


Inevitable

by Caspian28



Series: Days After [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic OC, BAMF Blaise Zabini, BAMF Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Draco Malfoy Has PTSD, Everyone Has Issues, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Pansy Parkinson is a Good Friend, Pansy is a BAMF, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Blaise Zabini, Trans Character, we love pansy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caspian28/pseuds/Caspian28
Summary: In that moment, he knew two different things to be true:The first, that going back to Draco Malfoy’s rooms was probably a terrible, terrible decision.The second, that he would do whatever Draco wanted, whatever he needed, because in the Days After it seemed that there was one thing that was important; Draco Malfoy was inevitable.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Days After [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063061
Comments: 77
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

The warm July air blew patterns across Harry’s skin, although he shivered in spite of it. The starry sky felt as though it was flooding his vision with light, and for a moment he considered going back inside but shook the idea off quickly.

It was two months to the date since the Battle of Hogwarts, marked in Harry’s mind as two months Since I Died. That was how life seemed to be these days, in the slowness of recovering and learning how to live in a world free of Voldemort. There were the Days Before – his whole childhood marked by danger lurking around the corner – and the Days After – marked by fear and flashbacks. Hermione had been reading, of course, her only coping mechanism, really. She threw around words like “post traumatic stgress” and “anxiety” as if she had been studying them her entire life. Harry preferred to call it “Maybe I Should Have Stayed Dead”.

He couldn’t have, not really. Not when the world needed him to defeat Voldemort, and especially not now that Tededy needed him. But it was his one selfish wish.

He glanced around furtively before reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. There were charms for this, of course, but his magic had been unstable to say the least in the Days After; once he had set fire to Andromeda’s back garden, so for now he stuck to lighters.

He leaned out over the edge of the Astronomy Tower, cigarette resting between his lips, and gazed out at the shadowy outline of the Hogwarts grounds. They were all here, of course, to celebrate and to mourn. Everyone had been offered a bed to stay in for the night. Naturally, most Gryffindors Harry’s age were currently seated in the Common Room, getting pissed on Odgen’s firewhisky and cheap muggle rum.

Harry worried the cigarette between his fingers before taking another drag. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want the company, didn’t enjoy seeing his friends. Ron and Hermione were departing the next day for Australia, to work on restoring her parent’s memories. Harry ought to be sitting downstairs with them – but when the room got too crowded and it became hard to breath it was easier to just escape. Most of them could escape without leaving – drinking their thoughts away until their eyes shone and they fell into easy sleep. He couldn’t, though. It was nothing against the alcohol, he understood why it was how they coped. But for Harry in the Days After, it made it worse. He’d drink and the room would shrink, and the shadows would lurk around the corners until he fell into nightmares.

That’s why he smoked, he reflected, taking a long drag of the cigarette. Smoking receded the shadows. It calmed his breathing when everything was too much.

There were probably healthier ways to achieve the same thing. Meditation, maybe. Occlumency, probably. But he’d never been good at eihter. When he smoked, at least he didn’t have to put in effort.

He took another drag – too deep – and coughed.

“Surely that’s not how you’re supposed to do it,” came a drawl from behind him.

Harry whirled fast, his cigarette falling from his fingers. He didn’t bother stomping it out, the castle was all stone, anyways. His heart was pounding in his chest, his vision blurring around the edges.

“Steady,” came the voice, much closer this time.

Harry’s breathing began to slow, his brain catching up to his surroundings. He was in Howarts, he was perfectly safe, and he recognized that voice.

“Malfoy?” Harry croaked, almost incredulously. As the name passed his lips, the blonde man materialized in front of him.

His hair seemed ragged, sticking up in ways Harry knew a young Draco Malfoy never would have let it. There were dark circles under his eyes – the kinds Harry had from nighttime wanderings and shrieking nightmares. He wore lazily unbuttoned black robes. His skin and hair were stark against the night, not like Harry who blended into the dark except for the whites of his eyes.

“Didn’t realize the Saviour of the Wizarding World startled so easily,” Malfoy drawled back, but there was no malice in his tone. Harry shifted to the side – the oher man was standing much too close to him, and fumbled with his cigarette pack in his attempt to light another. He needed to take a drag, needed to calm himself down, couldn’t hope to do that with Draco Malfoy standing that _close_ to him.

In the Days Before, Harry would have bristled at the nickname. Now he just shrugged. “Wasn’t expecting you,” he said dully, not quite looking at Malfoy’s eyes.

“Give that to me,” Malfoy said suddenly. He took the lighter and cigarette from Harry’s hands, suprisingly gently. With one hand, he delicately placed the end in Harry’s mouth. With the other, he flicked the lighter to light it.

Harry took a drag, willing his thoughts to calm. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move like this – and all the help his brain could supply him was one word – _beautiful_. Draco Malfoy was bloody beautiful.

“Why are you here?” Harry asked, once his words had returned. He hadn’t seen Malfoy since his trial in front of the Wizengamot. Harry and returned Malfoy his wand, then. Had spoken in his defence. But had not stuck around to see the results of the trial. Hermione had insisted he shouldn’t get too invested, that he couldn’t save everyone. She was right, of course. Eventually, days had faded into weeks, and he had stopped being curous about the outcome.

His question was vague, but Malfoy seemed to understand. He gestured for Harry’s cigarette, and spoke only after taking a deep drag and handing it back.

“My punishment, if you could call it that,” he said. They sank down against the wall in unison, sitting next to each other on the stone under the stars. “I’m here until the end of eighth year. Can’t leave school grounds, can’t use magic outside of classes, can’t drink, can’t share rooms with other students. You get the idea, I’m sure.” He cast Harry a peircing gaze. “Why aren’t you back inside with all the others?”

“Don’t feel like it,” Harry settled for. “Needed some space.”

“To brood,” Draco responded, his mouth quirking up.

“To brood,” Harry confirmed solemnly.

Harry quitely filed away another discovery under his list of Days After traits: _gets along with Draco Malfoy._ It wasn’t so surprising, not really. They had been children, raised for different purposes, on opposite sides of a war.

“Must not be bad, being here this summer,” Harry said after some silence. “Better than,” he gestured broadly.

“Better than what, Potter?” Draco growled. “Better than getting to go places? Or see your friends? Better than being the world’s saviour?”

Harry rolled his eyes, his hand bumping Draco’s as he passed him the cigarette. “I could visit,” he said quietly. When Draco raised his eyebrows, Harry repeated himself.

“No one’s allowed to visit me,” Draco responded sardonically. He didn’t, Harry noted, say no.

“I’m the Saviour of the Wizarding World,” Harry said, letting his amusement tinge his voice. “I can do what I want.”

He was sure he had wanted to say more, something about how Ron and Hermione were leaving, how Ginny would barely look at him, and how the quiet at Andromeda’s house was oppressive. About how every time he looked at Teddy he was filled with love greater than anything he could have ever imagined and grief stronger than a tidal wave. About how he dreamed of having the luxury to have stayed dead. About how different the Days After Harry was than the Days before Harry. About how beautiful Draco looked in the moonlight.

Instead they were kissing. Harry wasn’t sure who started it or even how it had happened, but he was keenly aware of Draco’s lips on his; hands under his sweater and roaming. Harry instinctively curled his hands in the ends of Draco’s hair, pulling his head back. Draco let Harry maneuver him, and then his lips were on Draco’s neck and he was tasting the sweet of his skin mixed with the salt of his sweat.

It wasn’t gentle, but nothing between them ever had been. Harry’s teeth found his neck and he was biting and sucking, urged on by Draco’s murmurs and moans. He found Draco’s lips again, hands reluctantly detangling from his hair to unbutton his shirt and pull his robes down off his shoulders. They paused in unspoken agrement, Harry leaning back so Draco could pull his shirt off his head

Harry was back on him, then, Draco pliant underneath his hands. He pushed Draco down, straddling him as he lay down on his cloak, kissing anger and longing and apology across the pale scars on Draco’s chest and abdomen.

He propped himself above Draco, breathing shakily. Harry was keenly aware of where their bodies lined up, his as lean as Draco’s from a year starving and on the run. His mind was barely keeping track of his body, but somehow he was stretched out, hips lined up with Draco’s, hands holding Draco’s hands above his head, pinned to the stone underneath them.

“You are so goddamn beautiful, Draco Malfoy,” he whispered in the other boy’s ears. He felt the moment Draco’s breath stopped, the moment he started breathing again. Then he saw stars as Draco shifted his hips against Harry’s.

“Your room,” Harry groaned, mustering every ounce of self control to let go of Draco’s wrists and prop himself up slightly. “Let’s go there.”

Draco smirked lazily up at him. “What’s wrong with the astronomy tower.”

Harry bit his collar bone, none too gently. “Nothing, particularly, except for all the Gryffindor’s getting pissed off some shit rum and this being the closest place to be sick from it.”

He felt Draco shudder under him. “Point taken. Let me up, then.”

Reluctantly, Harry flipped himself off of Draco’s waist and stood slowly. His whole body was burning to touch and be touched.

“Let me disillusion you,” Draco whisphered into his ear. He had clearly follwed Harry up and was now pressed behind him, bare chest to bare back. Harry shuddered and nodded.

He let Draco kiss his shoulder while he tapped his head, the feeling of cold water running down him countered by Draco’s warm body and warm kiss made Harry shudder. In that moment, he knew two different things to be true.

The first, that going back to Draco Malfoy’s rooms was probably a terrible, terrible decision.

The second, that he would do whatever Draco wanted, whatever he needed, because in the Days After it seemed that there was one thing that was important: Draco Malfoy was inevitable.


	2. Changed for Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA this was only supposed to ever be a one-shot, but I guess here's another chapter. I love this Harry and have a whole character and storyline fleshed out for him now. Should I keep going?? Focus on the fanfics I already have going?? help aaaaah

In hindsight, perhaps inviting Draco Malfoy to Andromeda’s house had been Harry’s second particularly stupid decision after the war. The first being that night on the astronomy tower, of course.

The fact was, Harry had found dozens of excuses to visit in the weeks following that night. Sorting library books for Madame Pince, calming Myrtle while her bathroom was being repaired, permanently sealing the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. And of course, if he happened to bump into Draco Malfoy, who would complain, really? He couldn’t, however, find any good reasons to stay the night. In fact, it was expressly not allowed. The other problem was that he had time to visit the castle much less than he liked, simply because Teddy was here and needed him.

Maybe it was his hero complex – Andromeda had certainly encouraged him to get out of the house; to visit the Weasleys, go flying with Charlie, visit the joke shop, floo Ron and Hermione who were still in Australia. Most of this he did. Most of it, actually, he did with a smiling baby attached to his hip.

He couldn’t just leave Teddy. He couldn’t bear to have the small boy out of his sight. Andromeda had already promised up and down that she would attend as many Hogwarts meals with Teddy as possible, but Harry wasn’t entirely sure he’d make it to the hols without having his godson with him everywhere he went. Teddy had Andromeda, he knew, but she wouldn’t be able to take care of him forever. Better if Harry started sooner. Plus, the three of them in Andromeda’s small cottage had begun to feel like family, even moreso than the Weasleys had ever been. It was the first time he wondered how children like Ron and Ginny were ever excited at the prospect of going away to boarding school for the year.

Currently, Harry was in the garden with said child, doing push-ups while Teddy giggled in the grass. Andromeda had banned cigarettes from her house as soon as she had found Harry with them and had given him a good stripping down that included phrases like “ghastly muggle inventions” and “horrible for the child’s lungs”. Maybe in the Days Before, Harry would have rebelled and snuck them in anyways. He knew he hadn’t cared much for authority. In the Days After, though, Andromeda was right. It was horrible for Teddy to be around.

He had turned to exercise instead. It was almost more helpful, and it kept him outside for hours every day. He’d filled out from the commination of food and his workout regime, was less the scrawny child he’d always been.

He had spent the summer pulling strings at the ministry, too. Himself, Andromeda, and Professor McGonagall of all people, to be exact. It had ended, after appeals to the Wizengamot and the Minister for Magic himself, with permission for Draco to visit his mother and Andromeda as long as he provided a written request to the Ministry a week before and did not bring his wand.

As far as Harry knew, he hadn’t visited his mother yet. Harry wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to visit the Manor where she was under house arrest, or was wary about the Aurors they had posted at the Manor every hour of the day to ensure she was complying. He hadn’t asked, and Draco hadn’t volunteered any information.

Harry stood and stretched. Draco was due to arrive soon, and he had been trying to calm his nerves. Truthfully, nothing had happened since that night on the Astronomy Tower. Nothing but talking under the watchful eyes of professors, at any rate. They hadn’t spoken of that night, either. In the Days Before, Harry may have asked.

But Days After Harry was a catastrophic mix of desire, anxiety, and exhaustion.

Harry swung Teddy up and into his arms. “Let’s go, Teds. If we spend much more time out here Andy will throw a fit.”

Teddy giggled and grabbed at his glasses with his pudgy hands. Huffing, Harry shifted the boy so he couldn’t reach his face. He had just started laughing at almost 5 months old – Andromeda said he was a late bloomer, but Harry had other suspicions. Maybe Teddy spending all his time around adults who had lost so much, who hardly ever laughed, was affecting him.

Bumping the door open with his hip, Harry stepped into the cottage. Andromeda was bustling around the kitchen, preparing dinner, most likely.

“Set Teddy down, love, and go shower,” she said to him without looking up. Harry smiled to himself. Having someone to care for had kept Andy busy and seemed to keep her grief at bay. Being cared for did the same for Harry in the Days After.

Harry placed Teddy in his chair at the table. “It smells good, Andy,” he said.

She swatted him with a towel. “Yes, and you’re stinking up the whole room. Are you packed for Hogwarts?”

Harry sighed. He was leaving for Hogwarts the next day, flooing in. Draco would be staying with Andromeda and flooing in with them. It wasn’t September 1st yet, all the eighth years who were able were arriving the week before to help finalize castle preparation and restoration for the following year.

The only eighth years who wouldn’t be there, as far as Harry knew, were Ron and Hermione. They had been given permission to arrive the 1st of September with everyone else since they were still in Australia.

“I’m almost packed,” he said to Andromeda.

She turned kind eyes on him. “It’ll be alright, Harry. Teddy and I will visit.” She squeezed his shoulder as he moved through the kitchen towards his bedroom.

He emerged not long after, wet hair dripping into his eyes. Andy shooed him off to meet Draco at the apparation point, just past the wards of the cottage.

Harry kissed Teddy on the forehead and stepped outside. The sun was beginning to set, washing the world in pink and orange hues. As he walked, he tried not to look at the spots that held memories from the Days Before. Where he and Hagrid had crashed the motorcycle after seeing Voldemort on their way to this very cottage. Tried not to remember Moody’s death, George’s ear, Lupin and Tonks and Fred alive.

He felt the ripple of the wards as he stepped outside of them, saw the world shimmer slightly and reform. Draco appeared with a pop almost at the same moment, holding the arm of an Auror, who must have side-along apparated him here. The Auror nodded once at Harry, then spun on his heel and vanished with another pop.

“Friendly seeming fellow,” Harry commented wryly as Draco fell in step beside him and they passed back through the wards together.

“Would you believe he didn’t say a word to me the entire time? Frankly I’m not quite sure he’s smart enough to speak,” Draco smiled at Harry, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He looked as he always did these days, slight and tired. His eyes had their now characteristic bags, his hair was long – nearing his shoulders, and mussed. He was wearing muggle clothes, jeans and a sweater. Harry thought it was frightfully attractive, though he’d never say it.

They walked in silence. Harry felt tense, could feel the energy crackling between them. It was almost amusing, he thought. In the Days Before he was so oblivious, he never would have noticed. But in the Days After, every feeling, every sense, every thought he had ever had was amplified.

Lost in thought as he was, he hadn’t realized that Draco had stopped walking until he was a step ahead. Harry turned around to look back and Draco was kissing him. His lips were on Harry’s, hard and almost unyielding, teeth biting at his lips, hands slipped under his shirt.

Harry barely had time to slide his hands in Draco’s hair before he pulled away, breathing hard. Harry tried to follow, searching Draco’s lips out with his own, but Draco stepped back.

“I cannot meet my aunt for the first time looking as if you just ravished me in her garden,” Draco said with a sigh, drawing his hands away from Harry’s waist.

Harry ran an almost aggravated, definitely frustrated hand through his hair. “You’re the one who kissed me,” he grumbled.

Draco just shrugged.

They entered the cottage one after the other to the sound of Teddy’s giggles. Harry smiled to himself – this, in the Days After, was the sound of family.

He stopped to kiss Teddy, who was now happily in his bouncer in the sitting room, before following Draco to the kitchen. Teddy’s high chair had been moved over to make a seat for Draco around the small kitchen table.

He caught a startled look from Draco as Andromeda wrapped him into a hug. She hadn’t been brought up to particularly warm, Harry knew, and Draco may have expected the traditional Black aloofness in her. But she couldn’t have raised a daughter like Tonks without learning how to be warm.

A pang went through him at the thought of Tonks – usually thoughts like these led to Lupin, which led to Sirius. He did his best to squash the feelings before they overwhelmed him.

God, but he wished he had a cigarette.

“How’s Hogwarts, Draco?” asked Andromeda as she began to serve them up.

Draco launched into an explanation about the work he was doing with the restoration, under the watchful eye of Professor – or rather, Headmistress McGonagall. Harry only half listened.

“Harry?” he looked up, startled, realizing he had been lost in thought for a few minutes and merely pushing his food around on his plate. Andromeda looked concerned, and Draco looked as though he was avoiding eye contact. “You’ll be alright, you know,” she said softly to him.

“Yeah,” he said, dully. Harry didn’t particularly want to think about leaving, even if it would become reality tomorrow.

Uncomfortable with the way she was looking at him, Harry slid out of his chair. Perhaps in the Days Before, Harry would have shouted or thrown a tantrum to avoid the emotions he was feeling now. But in the Days After, he just didn’t have the energy.

“Just going to make Teddy’s bottle,” he said, shooting a fleeting glance to Andromeda. He warmed the boy’s bottle as quickly as he could – on the stove; his magic was still prone to powerful fits that tended to set things on fire.

He headed into the sitting room, picking up Teddy, who was dozing, and depositing himself on the couch. Harry nuzzled the bottle between the boy’s lips until he latched, holding him close.

He would miss this. He would miss Andromeda and Teddy, the peace of the cottage. He’d miss visiting Hogwarts and Draco quietly, having tea with McGonagall. He’d miss flying with Charlie, who was going back to Romania, anyways.

“Alright?” Draco came into the room and sat delicately beside him on the couch. Andromeda followed behind him and deposited herself into the armchair by the fire, which she lit with a lazy wave of her wand.

Harry nodded absently to Draco and instead turned his head to Andromeda. “Would you like help with the washing up?”

She waved away his question. When he protested, she added, “I can handle the washing up for one night, Harry. You can keep an eye on Teddy tonight in case he wakes. Merlin knows I could do with a full night of sleep before you’re gone and he’s all my problem.”

Her smile was gentle, but Harry still frowned at her words. For the past three months they had shared house duties and Teddy duties. It had kept Harry from sinking into despair, even through the sleepless nights where the boy cried and cried, missing the mum and dad he had never known.

“When will Ron and Hermione be at Hogwarts?” Andromeda directed the question at both of them, although of course Draco would have no way of knowing the answer.

“On the first if all goes well,” Harry responded. “The memory charm is reversed, but she wants to take her parents to St Mungo’s to make sure everything is fine.”

“Smart girl,” Andromeda said approvingly. “Are any of your friends coming back, Draco?”

Harry almost smirked. Draco looked significantly uncomfortable, and also startled to be addressed so directly even though they’d been talking all evening already.

“As far as I know, just Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, and Goyle. I think Millicent is going to Durmstrang with Daphne Greengrass. The rest have chosen not to, or…” he trailed off, but the words remained unspoken. _Or they’re dead_.

“Just the five Slytherin’s then, including you?” Andy pressed. Draco seemed to Harry to relax a little bit.

“The three of them, really,” Draco sighed. “It’s not as though I have a choice, and I’ll still be in my own rooms.”

Andromeda tsked. She and Harry had discussed Draco and Narcissa’s situation at length many times, and he knew she didn’t approve of the treatment of her sister or her nephew. “A complete shame they’re keeping you separate,” she said, lips pursed. “As if you’d be a threat.” He saw Draco give her a small smile. “If you need anything, you write me. Understand?”

Draco nodded and Andromeda turned her fierce look on Harry. “You as well. You’ll be alright, both of you. Now, who else is coming back?”

Harry thought for a moment. He had kept in touch with precious few people after the war, preferring to let the world go on its way without him. “Ron and Hermione, of course,” he said. “Most of the rest of us. Neville, Dean, Seamus. Lavender won’t be back, nor the Patils. I supposed Hermione will be the only Gryffindor girl. Hannah Abbot will be back in Hufflepuff, and I heard Ernie and Justin will be back. Ravenclaw will have Michael Corner, I’m sure.” Draco made a noise of discontent, which made Harry grin.

“I don’t know the other’s well enough to say. I suppose that could be it. I’m sure Hermione knows who will be back, though,” he shifted Teddy on his arm, putting the empty bottle down. “I’ll go put him to bed now, I think,” he said to Andromeda.

“It’s alright,” she said, standing from her place on the chair. “Give him here, I’ll let you two catch up.” She took Teddy from Harry, giving him a long hug when she bent down. She gave Draco a quick kiss on the forehead, to which he blushed. “I’ll see you boys in the morning.”

“Come here,” he said to Draco as soon as she left, surprised at how huskily his voice came out.

He didn’t have to ask twice. Draco was on him in a heartbeat, their lips crashing together as they did in the garden earlier that night. Harry pushed the other boy back until he was lying on his back on the couch, Harry bracing his body over top. He bit Draco’s lip, his neck, his collarbone with bruising force.

“Didn’t know if you’d want to do this again,” Draco gasped out.

“Idiot,” Harry responded as he wrapped his fingers through Draco’s hair, pulling the other man’s head back and tasting the salty sweet of his skin. He unwrapped his hands, pressing his hips against Draco’s, relishing in the sweet pressure, before pulling back. Draco was watching him, and he watched right back, unabashedly taking in Draco’s flushed lips, the bruises forming on his neck.

He let his fingers trail down Draco’s body, pausing at the hemline of his sweater. Draco arched up, helping Harry to pull it off him, exposing his pale skin underneath. Harry reached down and pulled his own shirt off of his head.

He paused, breathing heavily, keeping his hands to himself before dropping them and letting them trail along the scars on Draco’s torso.

“I didn’t know what that spell did, you know,” he said quietly. Not quite an apology.

“I know,” Draco gave him an odd sort of smile. “I would have hurt you if you hadn’t. Not all these scars are from you, anyways.”

“No?” Harry asked in surprise. Looking closer, of course, he noticed that some of them looked newer than the others, still pink and puckered under his hands. He leaned down to trail their paths with his tongue, felt Draco shudder under him.

“I wasn’t always the Dark Lord’s favourite,” Draco gasped out. “I was particularly useless, most of the time.”

Harry sat up, felt his eyebrows furrow. “Come on,” he said finally, standing up and grabbing both their shirts off the floor. He headed down the hall towards his room, pausing to place the monitoring spell on Teddy’s room along the way. He didn’t wait to see if Draco would follow – knew he would. In the Days Before, Harry never would have been so bold.

He locked his door behind them, casting a discreet _muffliato_ as he did so. He turned to see Draco standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room. “Yours is across the hall,” Harry said, by way of explanation. “Andy said we could keep it for you, for Christmas and the like, if you want to come here instead of stay at Hogwarts.”

Draco looked stunned. “She did?”

Harry gave him a small smile. “Of course, you great berk. You’re family.”

Instead of looking gratified, Harry noticed Draco looked significantly sick. “She should hate me,” he said. “It’s my fault her – and Teddy -”

“If it’s your fault, it’s mine, too,” Harry said, looking at him hard. They were standing facing each other, less than an arms length apart. Harry had to tilt his head slightly to look Draco in the eye. When Draco began to protest, he continued. “I could have gone to him sooner; could have given up sooner. I should have. Less people would have died. But I was scared, so I didn’t. But you – you saved me when it counted. If it hadn’t been for you at the Manor, I would have been dead.”

Draco smiled. Just a small smile, but it was there. “Hardly,” he said back, almost a quip. “You have a very obnoxious habit of getting out of difficult situations.”

Harry laughed quietly. Draco stepped forward, and Harry closed his eyes. He felt the other man’s fingers ghost across his face, lips press to the scar on his forehead.

“You saved everyone,” Draco responded. “All I did is hurt people.”

Opening his eyes, Harry reached forward and traced the newer scars on Draco’s chest, caressed the Mark on his arm. “It was war, Draco. We all have blood on our hands.”

They walked back as one, until Draco’s legs hit Harry’s bed, when they paused. Harry’s fingers trailed across the waistband of Draco’s jeans.

“Can I?” he wasn’t even sure his voice was loud enough to be heard, but Draco nodded. Slowly, his hands went to the button, popping it open, and unzipping the fly. He pulled down Draco’s jeans, his pants coming with them, dropped to his knees and helped Draco to step out of them.

He gasped, breath hot on Draco’s cock. A bit of precum dripped, slowly, and Harry lapped it up with his tongue. Draco’s breath was uneven, his hands tangling in Harry’s hair and pulling hard. Harry’s own hardness pressed almost painfully against his trousers.

Harry licked another stripe along Draco’s length, wrapping his hands around Draco’s thighs, feeling him shudder and lean into him. Then his mouth was on Draco, sliding impossibly far down his cock before pulling back working up a rhythm. He lost himself in the pace, he had never done this before, but if the noises Draco was making were anything to go by, then he wasn’t doing it half badly.

“Stop,” he heard Draco gasp through his haze, and he paused to look up. Draco’s gaze on him was heated, Harry felt himself blush.

Slowly, Draco removed his hands from Harry’s hair; he looked like he was quivering with the effort. He took Harry’s hands and guided him to his feet, pulling him in close for a kiss.

It was gentle, not like the kisses they had shared before in the living room, or the garden, or the Astronomy Tower. Draco’s lips were soft on his, his tongue adventurous in his mouth. Harry moved his hands to Draco’s chest, caressing his shoulders, his hips, wherever he could reach. He felt Draco’s hands stray to his waist, and willed himself to stay calm.

When his trousers were off, Draco guided him onto the bed. Every nerve of Harry’s was on fire, every spot Draco touched him felt like a blaze.

Harry felt Draco lower himself onto him, his mouth never leaving Harry’s. They rocked together, breath’s coming in sharp gasps, hands quivering, bodies straining. Draco came first, with a soft keening cry. He reached his hand down, speeding up his pace against Harry’s cock until his world exploded into a blaze of light.

When his mind came down and settled back in his body, Draco was curled against him, head tucked into his shoulder. “Alright?” he asked when Harry shifted beside him.

“Alright,” Harry said, bringing his hand up caress Draco’s arm. He reached his arm, cast a cleaning spell over both of them.

Draco shuddered. “A little warning next time, Potter,” he grumbled.

“Potter now, is it?” Harry retorted lazily.

“It is when you’re annoying me,” Draco said without malice. Harry shuddered as Draco’s lips found his neck.

The world felt bright and warm as they drifted into sleep. A thought chased its way through Harry’s mind.

Maybe it wasn’t his death, really, that had changed his life so significantly. Maybe it was many tiny things. His death, sure. Andromeda, finding him tired and sobbing over Lupin’s body that same day. Charlie, taking him under his wing when his best friends had left.

And Draco Malfoy, that night on the Astronomy Tower. Things could never go back to how they were, and somehow, despite everything, Harry was infinitely grateful.


	3. Me nunquam obliturum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your wish is my command, this will be a full length fic! I don't have a plot fleshed out really, but I'm hoping it'll develop as I go along...
> 
> *small note, the title of the chapter is not from a poem as Pansy implies, but rather part of the song they sing at Dumbledore's funeral in the movie, lol

Harry flinched every time the floo came to life and another one of his classmates stepped out. He couldn’t help it. In the Days Before, Harry had disliked travelling by floo, but hadn’t minded it either, not really. In the Days After, to put it simply, he was glad he and Draco had been the first to arrive, so no one but Professor McGonagall had to see him be sick in the potted plant in the corner of her office.

Andromeda hadn’t come through with them, of course, but he was sorely missing her presence. Saying goodbye to Teddy, too, had made him feel as though he was ripping his heart into tiny little pieces.

He stood close to Draco, their shoulders brushing, as their classmates stepped through the floo. Pansy Parkinson was on Draco’s other side, looking studiously grim and aggressively avoiding eye contact with Harry. Dean and Seamus and Neville had come through, had said their hellos to Harry, but were now standing on the opposite side of the room chatting with Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchy. According to Parkinson, Goyle had decided last minute to attend Durmstrang instead.

All in all, it looked as though there were around twenty five eighth years returning. Harry flinched again as the floo flared and Theodore Nott stepped through, felt Draco’s’ hand brush his wrist. He missed Ron and Hermione sorely in this moment, more than he had missed them yet. Something about being at Hogwarts made their absence feel profound.

“Your attention, please!” He jumped and winced as McGonagall clapped her hands to bring the group to attention. He wasn’t the only one, either. Draco’s hand that had been brushing his arm suddenly gripped his wrist hard.

He thought that McGonagall looked slightly abashed, but she didn’t say anything to address it.

“Your trunks have been sent ahead to your rooms, as I am sure you are all aware,” she began. “Since you are all here, I will show you to the eighth year common rooms.” A mumble of surprise went up from the group, but she quelled it with a look. “Hogwarts will not be a pleasant place for most returning this year, you all are expected to be supporting the younger years in their transition back into the castle. We have made the decision to keep the eighth years from having ties to any particular houses.”

“But-” someone protested, maybe Dean or Seamus, it was hard to tell.

“No arguments,” said the Headmistress firmly. “You are here at my request, and if necessary I will see you leave at my request, too.”

In the Days Before, Harry would have been furious and probably argumentative. His identity had been Gryffindor through and through, moreso because he had _asked_ to be placed there. Now, in the Days After, he simply exchanged a bemused look with Draco. He might be angry if he had to share a room with Zacharias Smith, but nothing could really get him riled up these days.

He noticed the Slytherins had stayed uncharacteristically silent, too. Harry, Draco, and Pansy had taken up space at the back of the group almost immediately, and somehow Zabini had ended up on Harry’s other side. He tried not to look worried by this turn of events, where he was surrounded by the people the rest of the school hated most.

Harry leaned in towards Zabini. “Reckon any arrangement is fine so long as I don’t end up sharing a room with Smith.”

He was gratified to hear Zabini snort in response, although the other man didn’t look at him or acknowledge him in any other way. Harry didn’t exactly know why he was trying to make friends with them, even Draco had given him a bemused, although not ungrateful, look.

He couldn’t help but think, though, that perhaps the prejudices that had fed the war, that had already been in place, were as much the fault of those in the Hogwarts houses that constantly demonized Slytherins. Perhaps people became what you made them.

And maybe, there was a chance they could change that, starting now. They were all children in a war, after all. Andromeda had said that to him often. _You were a child. You are a child. You are allowed to grieve and you are allowed to change._

He missed her more than he had thought he would, for someone who had only been in his life for a short time. He felt his eyes glisten slightly and winced to himself. In the Days Before, he would have been angry. In the Days After, he was apparently just a sap.

The eighth years followed McGonagall out of her office and down the spiralling staircase into the main body of the castle. It had been rebuilt well, a far cry from the castle’s appearance when they had all gathered for the two month anniversary of the battle. Paintings had been restored, walls rebuilt. But everywhere Harry looked, he saw flashes from the past in his mind eye; crumbling walls, curses flying, Fred falling, Colin Creevy still on the ground, Lavender Brown’s body broken on the corridor floor.

He was broken from his reverie by a sharp elbow to his ribs, and he looked around wildly, breath coming in gasps. Draco on his other side was engrossed in a whispered conversation with Pansy and didn’t seem to notice his near-breakdown.

Blaise Zabini, on his other side, was looking at him. “Not the time, Potter,” was all he said when Harry made eye contact. Harry mumbled a quick thanks back, working to calm his racing heart.

He was dimly aware of their location, somewhere underground, near the Hufflepuff common rooms, when Professor McGonagall stopped walking. She stood in front of a carving on the wall that looked to be the Hogwarts crest. Dimly, Harry wondered if this was on the Marauder’s Map, although he knew it wasn’t. He was torn between wanting to ask Hermione if she could change the Map to include the eighth year common room, and not wanting to touch anything his father had made.

“ _Me nunquam obliturum_ ,” McGonagall said in a clear voice. Draco stiffened beside him at her words and Zabini shifted on his other side. Harry had no idea what he meant, but _of course_ those two could somehow speak Latin. There was a great creaking and the crest split down the middle. It continued splitting to the floor as the wall moved horizontally out until a comfortably wide doorway was formed.

“You’re expected in the Great Hall for lunch in an hour where I will provide you more instructions for your first week here and what to expect upon the arrival of the rest of the Hogwarts students. Until then, you’ll find your room assignments posted on the far wall. I will not hear any arguments or requests to switch rooms, these are final.” With a last look at all of them, she spun with a swish of her robes and departed down the corridor.

There was silence for a moment, finally broken by Neville. “I’m _never_ going to remember that password,” he groaned. The Gryffindor boys at the front laughed, and then the tension was broken and they surged in.

Harry couldn’t find it in himself to laugh, or push to the front the way he would have done in the Days Before. He didn’t understand, not really, how they could be cheerful, being back at Hogwarts. Every step, every turn he made, walking as a living person in a place where so many had died, felt like a slap to the face.

He followed the crowd inside, sticking close to Draco, Parkinson, and Zabini. He felt a kinship with them; it was definitely strange, seeing as how Pansy had all but offered him to Voldemort during the Battle. But they were subdued; he could feel the anxiety from all of them, mirroring his own. He no longer had it in him to be boisterous, not in the Days After. Maybe he truly had belonged in Slytherin all along. Or maybe, as Andromeda had said, grief had changed him.

The common room was warm, reminding him distinctly of the Gryffindor common room. A fire was already burning in the fireplace to their right, warming the air. There was a mishmash of chairs and couches spread around it, as though the professors had simply dug up any undamaged furniture they could find in the castle. Bookshelves lined the wall opposite, and chairs and tables were scattered around. Presumably the professors expected them to get more studying done here, rather than in the library – or perhaps it was just to mimic the Ravenclaw common room. The lack of windows, however, was already making Harry feel distinctly claustrophobic.

Across from where they were standing were two hallways. A crowd was clustered against the wall between the hallways. Harry assumed that was where the list of room assignments. He couldn’t find it in himself to care who he ended up with, particularly.

He only partially noticed Blaise disappear from his side and shoulder his way into the crowd; then reappear almost as quickly. Harry jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. “Looks like it’s you and me, mate,” said Zabini into his ear.

Harry shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Blaise responded theatrically. “Don’t worry, Weasley was shafted with Smith. I’m sure you’ll hear so many stories it’ll be like you lived with him anyway.”

“You sound much too cheerful about that,” Harry responded. A strange warmth was pooling in his stomach, though. Sure, Hogwarts was undeniably different. But perhaps it was still home.

He was broken out of his introspective mood by Parkinson storming over.

“What is it, then?” asked Draco, looking mildly alarmed. Harry didn’t blame him; Pansy looked particularly murderous.

“Granger,” she ground out. Harry snorted, surprising simultaneously himself and the three surrounding him.

“She’s not that bad,” he said, when Pansy turned her look of fury on him. “She might fold your socks, though. She likes things alarmingly clean.”

Blaise burst out laughing, likely at the horrified look on Pansy’s face. Even Harry found a small smile from within himself.

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Draco’s voice said in his ear. Harry shuddered at the proximity but shrugged in response. Honestly, he only knew from Ron’s complaints about how Hermione was while they were staying with her parents in Australia, but he was not about to say so. He felt suddenly very weary.

“Noticed you don’t have a room, Death Eater,” came a voice in front of them. It was Zacharias Smith, of course. Harry was utterly unsurprised, although he was more surprised to see Justin, Ernie, and Seamus flanking him.

“I have my own,” said Draco with a shrug. Harry could see the lines of tension in his body, though, and clearly Pansy could, too. She put a calming hand on his arm. Harry tried to ignore the flare of jealousy in his stomach as Draco leaned into her touch.

“Better for all of us,” Smith responded snidely. “I’m shocked they even let you back in.” Before anyone could react, he spat, hitting Draco on the face.

Harry felt himself draw his wand and raise it. It wasn’t conscious, was completely instinct – something that remained from the Days Before, perhaps. He saw a flash in his peripheral vision – Zabini, also drawing his wand.

To his surprise, Justin, Ernie, and Seamus all drew their wands, as well. Ernie and Seamus had their wands trained evenly on Zabini. Justin, though, Harry realized with shock, had his wand trained directly on him. At least when they made eye contact Justin had the presence of mind to look slightly abashed.

His breathing was coming faster, now. He hadn’t stared down the other end of a wand since Voldemort; he hadn’t thought his first day back at Hogwarts would find him doing the same thing. He couldn’t think of any spells to cast, couldn’t move all of a sudden. It was like everything in him was frozen and screaming, like the night Dumbledore had petrified him on the Astronomy Tower. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it down.

“Stop,” it was Draco’s voice, quiet but commanding, clearly directed at Harry and Blaise. He glanced at Zabini, who dropped his wand, gaze remaining on the four in front of them. Harry followed suit, turned his eyes to Draco as the other boy wiped the spit off his face, rolled up his sleeves to display his Mark – faded, but there.

Zacharias Smith, Harry was pleased to notice, looked slightly nauseous at the sight.

Is this what it had been like in Slytherin, the past six years? Always waiting for conflict, striking before others could strike, unquestioningly doing what Draco said? Although in the past, Draco would never have asked anyone to stand down, Harry knew with certainty. Draco would have led the fight. Harry would never have stood down, either. Not in the Days Before. Nor would he have taken direction from anyone else like this.

Harry felt Smith’s eyes lock onto him. “There’s no reason for you to be around them, Harry. We can talk to McGonagall, or the Minister. I’m sure they’d switch your rooms for you. If anyone deserves their own rooms, it’s you. Not this scum.” He indicated Draco with a jut of his chin.

“I think I can decide that for myself, thanks,” Harry said, shocked at how clear his voice was. It was instinct again, that was driving him. Consciously, he mostly wanted to be sick. “I’m happy to room with Zabini for the year.”

Blaise, to his credit, inclined his head slightly in Harry’s direction, although his eyes still hadn’t left the group before him.

“Still,” Smith blustered. Harry felt Zabini, Pansy, and Draco shift around him. At first he thought they were trying to extract themselves from the situation, but he realized they had closed ranks behind him to mirror the stance of the other four – had closed ranks to protect him. “You don’t have to _associate_ with them. Parkinson tried to hand you over to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Harry couldn’t help it – through the panic, he snorted. “Yes, and instead I went to him willingly,” he countered. “We were all doing our best to survive, we _all_ lost people, Smith. I don’t blame her; neither should anyone else.” He turned his voice, then, to the crowd that had gathered around them. Most of them looked slightly incredulous. Hannah Abbott was looking rapidly between Harry and Zacharias. Neville and Dean were standing to the side, speaking with each other in rapid whispers. Nott looked distinctly uncomfortable, but was standing resolutely near Neville and Dean.

Despite what he said, Zacharias just smirked at him. “We’ll see what your friends will have to say about being replaced by a bunch of bloody Death Eaters when they get here, then.” He turned suddenly and the crowd dispersed along with him, presumably heading to their dormitories as though nothing had ever happened.

Harry was promptly sick all over the floor.

“Merlin, that’s twice in one day,” Draco groused as Zabini vanished the evidence with a flick of his wand.

“Twice?” Zabini asked, almost gleefully. Harry shot him a dark look.

“I need to…” he said, and paused. What he needed, in all honesty, was to talk to Andromeda and hold Teddy. Neither of those were options.

“Come on,” Draco finally said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Let’s just go to the Dining Hall, we need to be there soon regardless.”

Harry felt him nod along with the others as they traipsed out of the Common Room, the door grinding closed behind them. “What does the password mean?” Harry asked as they left.

Pansy laughed softly. “It’s from an old Latin song. It translates to _I will never forget_. Fitting, all things considered.”

Harry felt queasy all over again.


	4. Slytherin's Army

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains a TRIGGER WARNING for brief, undetailed mentions of torture. if anyone needs me to mark it off in the text in some way so they feel safe reading please let me know and i'll see what i can do to mark it off.  
> also, i promise more smut next chapter ahdksfdja apparently we had to get all the post war trauma out this chapter!!!
> 
> writing this so far has been SO MUCH FUN and it's 100% because of the engagement of everyone who has read it. i love u all <3 the comments on my writings style literally make me so happy, i write/blog non fiction stuff normally (if ppl are interested i'm down to self promote LMAO) so knowing so many people enjoy my prose is WONDERFUL

Harry woke in a haze of confusion to someone shaking him. The first thought his brain supplied was _That isn’t Andromeda_ and the second was _This isn’t my bed_. It took him a moment of haziness to realize that it _was_ his bed, or his bed at Hogwarts at any rate, and the person shaking him awake definitely wasn’t Andromeda. It was Pansy.

“What are you doing in here?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. It was slightly more aggressive than he intended but, well – the sun wasn’t even up.

“You were having a nightmare,” she explained evenly, as though that explained everything. She stepped back to sit on Blaise’s bed – which, Harry noticed, was empty, and looked at him expectantly.

“I sleep better with the baby around,” Harry responded without really thinking. He was still trying to make sense of what was going on. He had become an early riser in the Days After, mostly thanks to Teddy’s sleep schedule and Andromeda’s insistence to be up at the crack of dawn with the kettle boiling, but this seemed excessive.

“I’m going to pretend that made any sense,” Pansy responded. “Blaise has gone off to the kitchens. We’re supposed to meet him there in about…” she trailed off to glance at her wrist, as if she was wearing a watch. She wasn’t. “Now, but you’re bloody hard to wake up.”

“Sorry?” Harry responded. “Why is Blaise in the kitchens now?”

Pansy muttered something under her breath that definitely included the phrases _bloody Gryffindors_ and _how do they get through life alive._ When she finally looked up at him, she sighed dramatically.

“Zacharias Smith is _itching_ to find a reason to get us sent home and we don’t particularly want to give him one. Your goodie two shoes Gryffindor pals don’t seem to want to lend us a hand, either,” Harry felt as if he were a small child being spoken sternly to for misbehaving. “So we are going to leave before anyone else is up and have a cozy breakfast with the house elves.”

She sighed. “I didn’t particularly want to bring you, but Blaise seems to be of the belief that Draco would murder us if anything happens to you. So I suppose we have to make sure you’re not dumb enough to do anything stupid, now.”

“Erm…” Harry was mostly at a loss for words.

“What are you waiting for? We need to go.” Pansy spoke as if he were particularly daft. Given the time of morning, he probably was.

“Right. Could you, um, leave while I get ready?”

Pansy gave him a long-suffering look. “I will be outside your door for five minutes, then I’m coming back in and dragging you out, whether you like it or not.”

She stormed across the room, but shut the door behind her with a soft click. Harry made a mental note to avoid ever making Pansy Parkinson angry at him. After a deep breath, he got out of bed and grabbed some clothes for the day.

Harry couldn’t actually tell what time it was, but they had found, once they had made it to their room the night before, that it had enchanted windows. They seemed to be similar to the ceiling of the Great Hall, showing with at least some accuracy the weather and time of day outside. Judging by the windows, the sun was just now peaking above the horizon.

They didn’t have to wear uniforms yet, since they were the only students in the school, so Harry pulled on a soft sweater and some jeans. He ran a quick hand through his hair before giving up on attempting to neaten it altogether. He was pulling a quill and some parchment out of his trunk, with half his mind set on writing Andromeda a letter over breakfast, just as Pansy stepped back in.

“Good, you’re decent,” she said sardonically. “My eyes are saved, to be scarred another day.”

“Thanks,” he rolled his eyes. Tucking the parchment and quill into his pocket, he allowed her to lead him into the Common Room and into the corridor, the entryway grinding closed behind them.

“That has got to be the least subtle way to enter or exit anywhere, ever,” Pansy sighed. Harry smirked at her, but didn’t say anything. His mind was still reeling.

How had it happened that he had been taken under the wing of a group of Slytherins that everyone hated? Why was it that everyone hated them so much? Hating Draco, he understood, maybe. Harry hadn’t been at Hogwarts the previous year – hadn’t seen what had happened, although he had heard stories about Hogwarts under the Carrow’s rule. Students had been forced to hurt and punish other students – until eventually some had taken up residence in the Room of Requirement.

But there was no place for the Slytherins to take refuge. It was hurt or be hurt, and knowing them now he knew that they would choose to hurt – most people would, really. He knew, too, that there were students from every house that had participated. To place the blame on the Slytherins alone felt…irresponsible, almost. Especially for a war that was so brutal because of a madman’s ability to pit children against children.

The people who chose to do the hurting, Harry reflected, did not have sleepless nights. They were haunted, just as haunted as the rest of them. Perhaps in the Days Before, he wouldn’t have understood, would have thought himself better for the choices he made. Except that he hadn’t made choices, not really. People had made choices for him – Dumbledore, Voldemort, the prophecy.

When he died, he had seen the tortured part of Voldemort’s soul die along with him, heard Dumbledore tell him that it was past saving, watched the pain it exhibited. Nobody at Hogwarts was past saving, but they all had tortured souls, now. In the Days After, with Andromeda’s help, Harry was able to find that tortured part of his soul. He couldn’t heal it – was unsure if it would ever be healed, but he felt it contract whenever he thought of those who died, whenever he heard a loud noise, whenever someone raised their wand at him. Andromeda had said being aware of it was half the battle of healing it, but Harry didn’t think it could be healed – not really.

“Who’s your professor for the year?” Pansy asked him, breaking Harry away from his thoughts. The previous day at lunch, Professor McGonagall had asked them to each think at length about where they wanted their future to head, and choose a professor to help guide them. She had explained that they would experience everything from one-on-one mentoring to helping with classes, to extra, more advanced studying. They hadn’t been given much time – they were required to have a foot of parchment written on which professor they’d like to work with and why to be handed in to McGonagall at dinner. At breakfast today, they were to find out what professor they had been assigned and to meet with them at some point throughout the day.

“Bins and McGonagall, if she approves,” Harry said after a moment’s pause.

“Two, and neither of them defence professors? You continue to surprise me, Potter.” He saw her glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “Binns could very well be horrid. Don’t come complaining to me when you regret your choice.”

Harry grinned a little bit. “I’m not taking defence,” he said. He watched her mouth form into an ‘o’ of shock.

“I always pegged you for becoming an auror,” Pansy responded evenly.

Harry shrugged. “I thought that’s what I wanted,” he said. And it was, too. In the Days Before, that had been his goal. But now he had lived through a war, and more fighting was the last thing that he had wanted.

He and Andromeda had spoken at length about it over the summer before he had sent an owl to McGonagall with his requests for classes. After deliberation and much conversation with Andromeda, McGonagall, Ron, and Hermione, he had decided to take Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Potions, and work outside of class with some professors to take his OWLs in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies, which had shocked Ron.

“What do you want, then?” Pansy asked, no longer hiding her curiosity. They had reached the kitchens, and he paused to tickle the pear on the portrait before responding.

“I’d like to open a school,” he said finally. Pansy raised her eyebrows, which he took as permission to continue. “My godfather left me his old house – I’d like to convert it into some sort of primary school that would take in purebloods, halfbloods, and muggleborns before Hogwarts. They’d learn core subjects from muggle schools, but they’d also learn magical basics – history and culture. That way they’re exposed to all ways of living, I suppose,” he finished, somewhat lamely.

He looked up to find Draco and Blaise sitting at a small table, looking at him in astonishment. A house elf appeared beside the table, snapping into existence two more chairs and place settings, before bustling away as quickly as it had appeared.

“You never told me that,” Draco said finally, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t want to,” Harry responded, sliding into the chair next to him. “Not until I knew I could make it happen.” He began to serve himself some food – if there was one thing he had missed about the castle, it had to have been Hogwarts food. “What professor did you request?” he added, directing his question at Pansy.

“Whoever the new defence professor is, I suppose,” she said with a sigh. As far as anyone knew, the post had yet to be filled. At the very least, they hadn’t been introduced to any new professors, yet. At Harry’s inquiring look, she added, “I’d like to be an Auror Potter, what of it?”

“Nothing,” he said evenly, although privately he was shocked. Shocked, mostly, to think that he had spent seven years in classes with the group of people before him and had not an inkling of what any of them were interested in. “What about you, Zabini?”

“Arithmancy,” he said dully, “although I don’t really care.” He took a sip of what must have been coffee – hadn’t touched a bite of breakfast, Harry noticed.

“Maybe you’ll get to help Potter catch up,” Draco drawled from beside him.

Blaise mock shuddered. “The arithmancy OWL of the Boy Who Lived resting on my shoulders? That’s too much responsibility.”

The other two laughed. In what seemed like unspoken agreement, they all pushed their chairs back. It would be breakfast time soon in the Great Hall and they had to make an appearance – to collect their official professor assignments and meeting times, at any rate.

They weren’t as early as they had thought. When they arrived in the Great Hall – which housed just a small table that the professors and students sat around together, most of their year was already there. Neville tried to smile at Harry as they walked in, but Harry tactfully ignored him and followed Blaise to seats at the opposite end to everyone else.

As they sat, Harry looked up to see Neville had abandoned his seat to make his say over to them. He pulled up a seat beside Harry and perched himself gingerly upon it, looking around furtively as if worried he’d be seen. Harry gave a glance around the room, but mostly people were talking amongst themselves. The only ones wo were looking were Dean and Seamus, which Harry expected, and Zacharias Smith. Harry saw out of the corner of his eye all three Slytherin’s lean in closely towards Neville and Harry.

“Can I talk to you, mate?” Neville said. He had leaned in and dropped his voice, presumably so the other three couldn’t hear him. This, Harry thought, was honestly a bit paranoid.

“What is it?” Harry asked. Neville made a vague gesture at Draco, Blaise and Pansy, but Harry shook his head. “They stay.”

Neville sighed. “Look, I just wanted to say that I’ll do my best to keep Smith off you in the common room, but I can’t promise anything. He’s angry.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, albeit begrudgingly. He had always liked Neville, generally, but it seemed a deliberate slight that he was offering Harry help after having already stood around to watch Zacharias and his friends pull wands on him. And it didn’t escape Harry’s notice that while Neville clearly thought Harry was deserving of help, the thought did not extend to the people around him.

“The thing is,” Neville continued, “Things will stay this way unless you…well, show your house loyalties, if you know what I mean.”

Harry sighed inwardly. “We don’t have houses this year.” He was being deliberately stubborn. He knew what Neville meant, of course. Knew he didn’t mean it in bad faith, not exactly. They were all scared and scarred in their own ways.

“Harry, come on,” Neville said imploringly. “You weren’t here last year, with the Carrows. And I don’t blame you,” he added, putting his hands up in a placating gesture, “but others don’t all see it that way. They feel that you, Ron, and Hermione – and even Dean, to some extent – spent the year out of the thick of things and left them to suffer here on their own. You had your stuff to do, we wouldn’t have won the war without you, Harry. But being here brings up horrid memories, so not everyone is able to see it that way. But if you’d just talk to them, spend some more time with us, they wouldn’t be so focused on being out to get you. They’d listen to you, if you explained.”

Harry could see, now, the leader Neville had become in the past year – the leader he had needed to become. Harry had thought his heart had been broken before now; broken to never be mended, that he could not possibly feel it break any more than it had, but it did. It broke a little more for Neville and the DA and all the children that had been left to their own devices at Hogwarts under the rule of Alecto and Amycus Carrow.

“Nev,” he began, trying to come up with the words to say – trying to come up with a way to fix it, a way to apologize for not being the saviour they had needed. But he was interrupted.

“That’s bullshit, Longbottom.” It was Pansy, voice firm but body trembling. Blaise was gripping her hand, looking grim. Harry didn’t look away from her, but he could feel Draco slide himself closer, press a knee to Harry’s leg. It was comforting in its own way.

“Don’t act like you were the only ones who suffered,” Pansy continued angrily. “Don’t act like you’re so righteous. What happened last year, Longbottom? I’ll tell you. You and your cronies painted some stupid graffiti, acted like it was the most rebellious thing in the world. Then Corner got hurt and what happened? You _goddamn disappeared_.”

Harry was transfixed on the two of them. Neville had gone ghostly white, Pansy was flushed and shaking.

“And even when you _were_ around, who was there to bind the wounds of the first year Slytherins? You think the Carrows didn’t hurt us? They didn’t care about blood status, they cared about torturing children. The teachers stopped turning you lot in for breaking rules, but guess what? There was no one to stop the Carrows finding us doing wrong – or making things up, at any rate. Ours was the only Common Room they could get into, or had you forgotten?

“You think we wanted to hurt people? They threatened to kill our families, make us kill each other. Maybe you’d have let your family die for the greater good or whatever noble shite you believe that makes you think you’re better than us, but you’re not any better. You left by yourselves; you stayed home, you disappeared, you didn’t take a single first year or Slytherin with you.

“Don’t act like you don’t have blood on your hands because you wouldn’t use some unforgivables, you bastard. You have the blood on your hands of every person who was hurt after you left and didn’t take anyone with you, of every Slytherin child who was hurt from the first _day_ the Carrows showed up, and don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

_You were a child. You are a child. You are allowed to grieve and you are allowed to change._

What Harry wouldn’t have given, in that moment, for someone he loved to be here to make sense of this for him. Sirius, Lupin, even Andromeda.

“Is there a problem, here?” Harry looked up to see McGonagall standing over them. Draco removed his knee from Harry’s leg, and he felt the absence like a slap to the face.

Neville looked like he was going to be sick, but was the first to speak up. “No problems, Headmistress. I was just going.”

Under her watchful eye, he stood up and walked slowly back to where Dean and Seamus were sitting. He moved slowly, but his shoulders were straight, and he didn’t look back.

Harry took a moment to glance worriedly at Pansy, but her face was blank. Blaise was looking at her with something like awe in his expression. Draco was, if possible, even paler than normal. Harry couldn’t help but remember being taken to the Manor during their year on the run. Draco had been there, not at school. No doubt Pansy’s words had hurt him.

McGonagall gave them all a terse smile. “I have your papers here. I realize you had an early breakfast,” she continued, ignoring their shocked looks, “so I think early papers are in order.” She passed a piece of parchment to each of them. “Potter, I will see you in an hour, and you right after, Mr Malfoy. Ms Parkinson, I’ve arranged a floo call with your Professor since he will not be arriving at Hogwarts until the first day of term. All the students who chose Defence will be meeting outside my office three hours from now, when I am done speaking with Mr Malfoy. If you’d like to go first, I recommend you arrive with him.”

Pansy looked shocked. Harry couldn’t tell if it was because McGonagall had just confirmed that there was indeed a Defence professor hired for the fall term, or because she had just been offered a method of avoiding the rest of those in their year by the Headmistress herself. To her credit, though, Pansy merely nodded in acknowledgement.

“Mr Zabini, you’ll be meeting with Professor Vector in an hour. Don’t be late.” At Blaise’s nod of understanding, she swept away from them.

“I need to go…” Pansy spoke, but trailed off slowly. “Not be here,” she finally said with a sigh. “Maybe a walk on the grounds will do it. Are you lot coming?”

“I have to go send a letter to Andromeda,” Harry responded. “But I’ll see you after my meeting with McGonagall.”

“I’ll go with him,” Draco said, almost too quickly. “None of us should be going anywhere alone,” he added.

Harry saw Zabini raise an eyebrow and exchange a look with Pansy, but he nodded. “Guess that leaves me and Pans. To the grounds it is.” He winked at Draco, and Harry tried to pretend he hadn’t seen.

They stood together and parted ways at the door to the Great Hall, Pansy and Blaise heading outside and Draco and Harry turning left towards the Owlrey.

They were silent as they walked, Harry mulling over Pansy’s words. She was right to be hurt, he knew, and brave to admit it. He couldn’t help but feel guilt, too. If he had been here… he doubted he would have spared thoughts for the Slytherins. Doubted he would have been any better than Neville when it came to saving the first years, those outside the DA. Would have seen graffiti and throwing insults at the Carrows as the ultimate rebellion.

But those were the Days Before, and this was now. He had changed, in the Days After. He hoped that the others, Neville, Dean, and Seamus, would be able to change, too. Hoped that they all would do better.

“It wouldn’t matter, you know,” Draco said finally, as they mounted the stairs to the owlrey. Harry shot him a questioning look.

“I know what you’re thinking – that you would have done the same as Neville. I’m saying it wouldn’t matter. Nothing mattered, that year. The war might have been won, but we all lost. You’d care now; I’d care now. That’s what’s important.”

They had stopped walking. Draco’s eyes were on him, serious and bright. He didn’t know, really, who Draco was trying to convince – Harry, or himself.

But then Draco was kissing him, gently, tenderly on the steps, and maybe, Harry thought, maybe it didn’t matter what they were Before. Maybe it only mattered that they were better now.


	5. You Became What We Made You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to another episode of the Pansy Parkinson show...haha oops i mean my drarry fic obvs
> 
> i'm honestly not in love with this chapter but honestly i think its because i feel like i struggle with writing dialogue a lot..legit spent all day on this one even though i had things to do!! worth tho. a plot is slowly forming in my brain...
> 
> thanks for all the kudos and reviews, lovely humans <3

The rest of the week passed in a blur of much too much homework for a school year that had yet to even start. Harry met with McGonagall four times, directly after breakfast. He had chosen her to shadow to do his best to learn what running a school was like. So far, it was simply a mess of boring paperwork. He had met with Binns four times, too. The ghost had about as much personality as his teaching skills implied, but Harry was determined to do something about History of Magic at Hogwarts. After all, perhaps if they focused on the _right_ history, the Voldemorts and the Grindlewalds of the world, rather than the Goblin Rebellions of the tenth century, mistakes that were made in the past would not continue to occur.

Pansy had been expressly forbidden from telling anyone about who the new Defence professor was, but she absolutely gushed about him at every possible opportunity. Blaise was not enjoying Arithmancy with Professor Vector, and he made sure everyone knew it. Mostly, he had been stuck tutoring Harry, so Harry, at least, didn’t really blame him.

For Draco, McGonagall had pulled some strings, it seemed, and under the guise of being supervised for “disciplinary measures” required by the ministry, she had put him in a Potions placement with the new Potions professor, who Harry hadn’t met yet and Draco was being stubbornly tight-lipped about, which he was enjoying immensely.

The first day of term was tomorrow. Ron and Hermione would be arriving in the morning, which Harry was uncharacteristically nervous about, given the dynamic between the eighth years right now. The rest of the school would be arriving in the evening for the Welcome Feast and Sorting, and Andromeda would be visiting with Teddy as well. They had visited already this week – Teddy had already stolen Pansy’s heart.

The four ostensibly avoided the eighth year common room, choosing to spend most of their time instead in Draco’s rooms, abandoned classrooms, or on the grounds instead. They never went anywhere alone, either. Smith had quieted down, but they often found people lurking around the common room and various corridors at all hours of the day and night. Harry was also quite sure they had people tailing Draco and Pansy, at least, but the others had told him he was being paranoid when he brought it up.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Draco’s voice drawled at him. “I can’t focus when I can _see_ your brain working.”

They had taken a rare moment, just the two of them, in Draco’s room together. Pansy was meeting with the mysterious defence professor before dinner, and Blaise was waiting for her. Harry was currently sprawled out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, while Draco worked on an essay for Slughorn at his desk. His room was small, his desk close enough to the foot of his bed that Harry could reach out with a foot and touch him. The other side of his bed housed a wardrobe, and across from the bed was a door to the room – a painting of a dog on the other side that swung outwards when you pet its head in the correct pattern.

“Stop working, then,” Harry responded, throwing a pillow at him. He was being a little bit obstinate. He had work to get done, too, but he was too nervous about the next day, Ron and Hermione arriving to do anything about it.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have work to get done, too, Potter?”

“Oh, I’m Potter now, am I?” Harry smirked, but Draco had stubbornly turned back to his essay and wasn’t looking.

“You’re Potter whenever you’re annoying me,” he responded loftily. “Which is most of the time.”

Harry nudged him in the side with his foot.

“For Merlin’s sake,” groused Draco. Harry watched with satisfaction as he threw down his quill and spun in his chair. Draco’s face was flushed, and his eyes dark, but not, Harry noted, with anger. With something else.

“We haven’t been anywhere without Pansy or Blaise all week,” Harry said, watching Draco intently. “I’m just saying, we can work on assignments when we’re with them.”

Draco snorted inelegantly. “No one can ever get any work done when Pansy Parkinson is around.” But he stood up from the chair and jumped onto the bed, straddling Harry at his hips. “Is this what you want?” he leaned forward, his breath in Harry’s ear, nose brushing his cheek.

Harry felt his breath leave him in a short gasp as Draco’s mouth trailed down his jawline, found a sensitive spot on his neck. He ran his hands down Draco’s sides as Draco’s mouth found his, kissing him tantalizingly slowly. When Harry pressed forward into the kiss, Draco pulled back. When Harry arched his body, Draco lifted his own body away.

With a frustrated groan, Harry wrapped his legs around Draco’s hips, pulling the other boy against him. Draco let out a keening noise. “So it’s like that, is it, Potter?” he asked breathlessly between kisses. Harry felt himself grow hard, angled his hips upward towards Draco, shuddered at the pressure.

And was interrupted by a shriek. “ _Merlin_ , my _eyes_!” Draco sat up suddenly, blocking Harry’s view of the door. But of course, he didn’t need to see who it was to know.

“You could knock,” Draco groused. He turned his body back towards Harry, bent low and nuzzled his cheek once before rolling off him. Harry, in turn, sat up quickly in an attempt to hide his very clear erection from view. Blaise’s smirk in his direction told him he hadn’t managed to hide anything, at all.

“Knock on your solid stone door? Or is it better to slap your dog portrait until he barks?” Pansy snapped, but she still came around and sat on the foot of the bed. Blaise deposited himself on Draco’s chair.

Draco nudged her back with a foot. “Stop it, you’re making Potter blush.”

This, of course, only caused Harry to blush harder, while Pansy snickered downright evilly.

“Aw, Pans,” Blaise said, “Not everyone is as blasé about sex as you are.”

Harry had never been more uncomfortable in his life.

“How was your meeting with Professor Mysterious?” he settled for asking.

Pansy’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward towards them. “Apparently, McGonagall is making an announcement tonight, and he may or may not have let slip what that exact announcement will be.”

“I had to listen to her prattle on about it all the way here,” Blaise groaned, “And she wouldn’t even tell me what it was.”

Pansy whacked his shoulder. “Instead of the eighth years keeping their prefect status, and because we don’t get the opportunity to be Head Boy or Girl either, the professors decided to do something else with us.”

Harry realized he hadn’t thought of this – whether or not the eighth years would contribute to the ranks of prefects or not. It wouldn’t have affected him, but Draco and Pansy had both been prefects.

“He said she’s choosing eight eighth year students to be assigned two to each Hogwarts house. We’re supposed to make sure the younger ones feel safe, and that the older ones don’t kill anyone, I suppose,” she sighed theatrically.

“They really are trying to make sure we have the most work possible, aren’t they?” Blaise sighed. Draco smiled at him, but Harry noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He knew it was frustrating to Draco to watch his classmates get to choose professors to shadow, be assigned to rooms, help younger students, meanwhile he wasn’t even allowed to carry a wand outside of class.

He leaned in toward Draco, who shot him a small undecipherable look before putting his head on Harry’s shoulder. Blaise mimed gagging, but Pansy shushed him.

“Listen, Blaise, this is important. They’re going to assign people to houses that _aren’t_ their own. So no Gryffindor eighth years for Gryffindor houses, no Ravenclaws for Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs for Hufflepuffs or Slytherin’s for Slytherins. What if someone like Zacharias Smith gets put with Slytherin?” Harry felt Draco tense beside him, saw Blaise’s eyes flicker and the dark look he cast at Pansy.

“McGonagall wouldn’t-”

“Shut _up_ , Potter.” Harry jumped, accidentally jostling Draco’s head off of his shoulder. It was Blaise, who normally never rose his voice. He was glaring daggers at Harry. “She didn’t do shit for us last year, left us to save ourselves, just like the rest of your stupid little army.”

Stunned into silence, Harry could only gape at Blaise. After a moment of silence in the room, he seemed to deflate with a sigh. “Sorry,” he said finally. “It’s not good, though. Those bastards will abuse their power, people are going to get hurt.”

“You’re right,” said Harry, drawing a surprised look from Blaise. Which was mildly hurtful, he thought. Surely they’d know how he’d feel about this better by now. “I’m going to go talk to her, make sure there’s a Slytherin for the Slytherins.”

He stood and stretched, giving Draco a small smile.

“I’m coming,” Pansy announced. “Blaise, stay with Draco.”

Blaise made a noise of protest while Draco, who was halfway to his feet, glared at her. “Look,” Pansy sighed, “Draco can’t get involved – sorry love,” she added directly to Draco. “It will look bad. And dinner is soon, he can’t go down there alone, and Potter can’t go up to the Headmistresses office by himself. It’s asking for trouble. So Potter and I will go bond over arguing with McGonagall, and you two can do whatever you’d like, and we’ll meet you in the Great Hall.”

“Fine,” groused Draco as he sat back down on the bed. Harry looked at him in concern, he was picking at his sleeve on his left arm – right where the Dark Mark sat on his skin.

Blaise ushered Harry and Pansy out of the door, making them swear they would retell every moment when they were all at dinner. Pansy and Harry walked in silence, at first, which Harry didn’t mind. He imagined Pansy was working out what she would say, and he was always content to be left with his thoughts in the Days After.

His flashbacks were less, now that he had been here for a week. He less often walked through the corridors shaking and gasping for breath, less often had memories rise to the surface. When they did, he could push them down. He wondered if it would have been the same if he had been back in Gryffindor, with Neville and Dean and Seamus.

Everyone was changed, but he knew what he thought it would be like – curtains pulled around their four-poster beds, silencing spells casted, grief dealt with quietly, screaming from nightmares hushed. When he looked at the three of them – which he didn’t often, hurt as he was by their behaviour – he imagined that his guesses weren’t far off. They often looked drawn and tired. Then again, they had more horrendous memories here than he ever had, really. Nothing he had experienced could amount to the seventh year they had spent here.

He didn’t begrudge them for how they acted towards him either, not really. They were right – he had been gone. Maybe being on the run wasn’t the best way to spend the year, nor the Horcruxes or Ron leaving, but it was a sight better than watching the Carrows force students to hurt each other.

He didn’t know, though, if he would be coping so well if he were rooming with them as normal. Blaise woke him up during nightmares; Harry did the same for Blaise. They had cleaned up after each other when they’d been sick, spent late nights talking about the past and the future. On one memorable occasion already, they had snuck Pansy and Draco in and sat up all night with hot cocoa delivered by the house elves when it was all too much.

Harry was uncomfortable thinking about how Ron and Hermione would fit into this dynamic when they returned. Would they join him, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco for their walks around the castle? Shuffle themselves into their group to make sure no one went anywhere alone? He hadn’t told them anything about Draco, had been scared to. Would they fall in, instead, with Zacharias Smith? No, definitely not that, but perhaps with Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Nott. In the Days Before, he would have been sure of where they stood. In the Days After, he wasn’t quite sure about very many things anymore.

“What’s the story with Nott, anyways?” Harry broke the silence to ask Pansy curiously.

Pansy let out a small, dark laugh. “He’s interesting,” she finally said. “His dad was a Death Eater, I’m sure you know. His mum left him when we were in second year, I think. Left Theo with his dad for the whole summer between second and third year, thought it was still important for them to bond, I think.”

She gave Harry a soft smile. “I don’t know what happened, really. You probably don’t remember him in third year, but he was tiny, like he was starved. He was angry, at first. People were picking on him, but he was picking fights with everyone he could. I guess he spent Christmas with his mum, because when he came back he wouldn’t even talk to any of us. Draco used to say he’d get to their dormitory after lights out every night, and leave before everyone woke. We think Snape let him do whatever he wanted, so long as he slept at some point. Spent a lot of time with Ravenclaws in the year above. We were all horrid to him about it, of course.

“Then, last year, he didn’t come to school. Rumour was going around he was in hiding with his mum – she was never a Death Eater. Not many women were, though. And this year it seems he’s become pals with your lot. That’s all, really.”

Harry nodded, thoughtfully. “Were your parents Death Eaters?”

Pansy scoffed at him. “The Parkinson’s aren’t even Sacred Twenty-Eight anymore, though my parents and grandparents tried to pretend like we were. But no, and it wasn’t a noble decision, either. ‘Neutrality never loses’ is practically the Parkinson motto. Neither was Blaise’s mum, though she was a pureblood. Too busy marrying rich men and then killing them; doesn’t care whether they’re wizarding or muggle or anything so long as they’re rich. Actually,” she leaned in conspiratorially towards him, “I’m fairly sure Blaise’s dad, whoever he was, was muggle, from the way he talks about him. I’ve never asked, though. Blaise was a right ass when we were younger, anyways.”

“You mean he’s not, now?” Harry snorted. Pansy smirked back at him, but her expression was slightly vacant.

“We weren’t good people, any of us,” she finally said. “Except maybe Nott. And the Greengrasses, they were always wonderful. Tracey Davis was a cow, though. Actually, I probably was, too. Crabbe and Goyle were horrendous. I have it on good authority that Goyle decided not to return because he didn’t want to see what we would do to him after we found out he may have had a little too much fun being the Carrow’s sidekick.”

Harry winced. “I’d like to think it would have been different if I had been here, but I know nothing would have changed.” He sighed. “All summer Andromeda had to remind me that we were still kids when it all happened. I’ve used Unforgivables, I’ve killed people, I doubt any of us were charming to you lot either, when we were in our younger years.”

Pansy hummed – thoughtfully or in agreement, Harry wasn’t sure.

“The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin when I was sorted,” he continued. Pansy looked up, shocked. “Everyone says it was because I had part of Voldemort’s soul in me, or something. I talked to Andromeda about it, too. She was Slytherin, you probably know that. She was horrid when she was younger, too. But Slytherin – ambition, cunning, valuing friendships, even – I don’t think any of those are bad traits, not any longer. And I think they all represent me, too. Maybe the House system has just been taken too far.

“I did a lot of reading this summer, too. No one viewed Slytherin as an evil house, not until Voldemort, not really. I mean – Dumbledore was in Gryffindor and he almost helped Grindlewald take over the world, and maybe if he had gone through with that, people would act the same way about Gryffindor. Even the way people talk about Salazar Slytherin or the chamber of secrets, that’s changed in the last fifty or so years, since Voldemort. So maybe you all just became what we made you to be, you know?”

“That’s awfully poetic, Potter,” Pansy said in response. She sniffed and looked away, as if in indifference, but Harry was fairly sure he could see a tear escape one of her eyes.

“It was, at that.” They both jumped at a voice behind them. It was Professor McGonagall, having clearly just exited her office, which was just around the corner. Harry felt himself blush.

“Now, have I assumed correctly that you are here to speak with me and not taking a casual stroll around the castle? If I’m wrong, by all means,” she gestured to the corridor behind her. Harry had to stifle his laugh at Pansy’s confused look.

“Yes, Headmistress,” he responded, giving McGonagall a small smile. Between the amount of time he had spent here rebuilding over the summer and his near-daily meetings with McGonagall this year, he felt he knew her quite better than any other student did.

“Very well,” she sighed. “Come along, then.”

She led them not into her office, but into an unused classroom instead. Harry smiled at Pansy’s confused look. “No portraits of old heads in abandoned classrooms.” He often had his meetings with McGonagall in any room _but_ her office as well.

“They can be quite meddlesome,” she said, with a tilt of her head. “Now, what would you like to know?”

Harry laughed to himself. McGonagall had been trying to find out from him what exactly was the cause of the strange dynamic between the eighth years, but he had refused to say anything. Better it come from the mouths of the Slytherins, if they decided to tell her.

“We heard that you were planning on assigning two eighth years per house this year,” Pansy began after a pregnant pause. The Headmistress looked shocked – whatever she had been expecting from the two of them, it was not this.

“Dare I ask where you discovered this information?” she gave them each a piercing look, but Pansy merely shrugged.

“It’s not important,” she said. Harry was impressed – not even he was that flippant with McGonagall. She was still the Headmistress, after all. “What’s important is you _can’t_ do that, Professor. They all have it out for us, it doesn’t make sense anymore but they do. They didn’t help a single Slytherin last year, not even a first year. Some of them _hurt_ the kids, even. You can’t let it happen.”

Pansy was pacing. Harry thought she looked shocked from her own outburst, was sure she had planned to say something more eloquently. But she looked the Headmistress in the eye and didn’t back down.

“Ms Parkinson,” McGonagall said with a sigh, “I promise you, this has been taken into account by all the professors and we have come to what we believe is a suitable arrangement.”

Pansy scoffed loudly. “Forgive me if I don’t believe in your definition of suitable.” Harry stepped slightly closer to Pansy, a quiet show of support. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t entirely fell it was his place and was sure that Pansy would not appreciate it if he did. But he did want Professor McGonagall to know that he agreed with Pansy implicitly.

McGonagall rubbed her temples and gave a glance heavenward before continuing. “Very well, Ms Parkinson. We have decided that this rule will be broken for the Slytherin house alone.”

Harry smiled as Pansy stopped pacing immediately and started at McGonagall, mouth agape slightly. He nudged her and she closed it.

“When I approached the professors about this very situation, Professor Slughorn was adamant he would only put his support behind it if you were able to be the Student Guardian to the Slytherin House. The staff were almost all unanimously in favour of this. You and Mr Potter are to be in charge of the Slytherins. And – I was going to tell him this tomorrow at our meeting, but I shall instead explain to both of you now – if Mr Malfoy were to lend a hand in an unofficial capacity, it would not cause me concern, nor would it be reported ot the ministry.”

She moved to open the door to the classroom, but looked back at them. “I admit that I thought those in Slytherin would have been safe from the Carrows due to blood status. I see now that I was incorrect; all the Carrows cared about was harm. Hogwarts failed you, and I hold myself responsible for this. I will do all in my power to ensure Slytherin House is a safe and welcome environment for every student that passes through it as long as I am Headmistress of this school.”

With that, she swept out of the room, emerald robes trailing after her. Moments later, Harry found himself rather uncomfortably holding a sobbing Pansy Parkinson.

Later that evening, Harry found himself curled up in Draco’s bed, relating the conversation to him. When Pansy had calmed down, they had gone to the Great Hall for dinner. She had refused to tell the other two what happened – hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Draco was clearly upset by this, so after dinner Blaise had waved him away with Draco, said he’d stay the night with Pansy and Harry should stay with Draco, if only to calm everyone’s nerves before the school was filled the next day.

Draco heaved a deep sigh when he was done. “No wonder she didn’t want to talk about it,” he said finally. “It’s funny, that year was so horrible, but perhaps if it hadn’t happened the way it had we would all still be as horrid as we were in sixth year.”

Harry shook his head. Unsure if Draco could see it in the dark, he added, “No. It was unnecessary. It all was. You can’t survive a war, can’t watch people die and not be changed by it. The rest of it was…I don’t know, Draco. Beyond horrible.”

Draco sighed beside him. “Are you nervous for Granger and Weasley to arrive tomorrow?”

Harry accepted the offered change of subject. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I had trouble leaving Andromeda’s for Hogwarts, this year. Didn’t want to go. I think it will be nice to have them back. But I’m worried…” he trailed off.

“Worried they’ll hate us?” he couldn’t see Draco’s expression in the dark, but could imagine the quirked, slightly unsure smile.

“Something like that,” he said.

“Worried you won’t have enough time for me?” Draco asked, then. He sounded confident, but Harry could feel the tremble in his body that gave him away. He rolled over and propped himself on top of Draco. They were hardly clothed, he could feel every touch of Draco’s skin to his like fire.

Harry kissed Draco slowly. Tried to convey what he couldn’t with words; how Draco was essential to him, how being with him felt like breathing again after suffocating for so long. Draco responded in kind, lifting his body against Harry’s, biting at Harry’s lip, making him groan.

There was no urgency, but neither did they hold back. Harry braced his arms at either side of Draco’s head, kissing down his neck, rutting against him and relishing in the feel of the pressure it created. He moved his body lower, kissing his chest, pausing to catch his nipple between his teeth, listen to Draco keen with want.

Draco’s hands were in his hair, on his sides, scratching his back, grasping his hips, urging him on. They went on like this, Harry shifting his weight onto his left side, moving his right hand down to give Draco a gentle stroke. “Faster,” Draco groaned.

Harry obliged, gripping harder and increasing the pace. He latched his mouth around Draco’s nipple, sucking in time with his strokes. It didn’t take long for Draco to finish with a stifled cry, nails digging into Harry’s side.

They were breathing hard, but Draco had hardly paused to recover before Harry felt a mouth on him, licking his cock slowly, tantalizingly. He wrapped his hands in Draco’s hair, knew he was being loud but was hardly sure what noises he was making. There was pressure building in him as Draco began to move faster, licking and sucking and grazing him with teeth that made him squirm. Before he could form a coherent thought, his vision exploded with stars, and his heart with tenderness.


	6. Tea and Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me because this took so long to update!! I accidentally found a new wolfstar fic that is amazing (Shifting Lines on here, it's a fricken long haul, though) and i could NOT put it down until I was caught up because I am bad at prioritizing things omg. But here's another BAMF Pansy chapter, and mostly from Draco's POV to boot!
> 
> I LOVE EVERYONE'S COMMENTS ALSO, they give me life force i swear

Draco Malfoy was not having a good day. He had woken late that morning, of course – so late that Blaise and Pansy had almost knocked down the door only to discover him and Harry, curled up in bed, completely naked. They woke to Pansy shrieking, dramatically as always. His friends needed to learn how to knock.

Not that he minded, really. He struggled with the isolation. It wasn’t so bad now that the castle was full of people, although without Blaise, Pansy, and Potter it would have undoubtedly have been worse – but the summer had been horrible. Even with Potter visiting, the letters and floo calls exchanged with his friends, it had been horribly lonely.

At the same time, he knew it had been lenient – being confined to Hogwarts hadn’t been true punishment, not really, even if his only sources of conversation had been limited to McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn.

This morning they had entirely missed their early breakfast with Pansy and Blaise. Draco had been adamant about skipping breakfast altogether – Potter had been adamant about attending. Draco understood, of course, it was his friends first morning back at Hogwarts – but he didn’t want to have to sit through the whispers and stares that followed him everywhere he went. Didn’t want to have to look Weasley and Granger in the eyes for the first time in front of everyone.

Pansy had finally made the decision for them all, declaring they would walk Harry to the Great Hall so he could eat with his friends while they waited in the eighth year common room for the end of breakfast. And this was how he had ended up curled up on the sofa before the fire, feet in Blaise’s lap and head in Pansy’s, feeling as though he was going to be sick.

“Stop being melodramatic,” Pansy chastised him. She was running her fingers through his hair, which he typically found quite relaxing, but today it made his insides squirm. “They’re Gryffindors, they’re the most _forgiving_ people who could ever possibly exist.” She spat out the word forgiving as if it was an insult. It was, in a way, given how they had all been raised.

“Look,” Blaise sighed from his other side. “There are people who are beyond forgiving, mate. Your father, for one. People like Vince and Greg, probably,” Draco felt a dull pang at their names, and Pansy’s hand stilled for a moment before continuing its motions in his hair. It wasn’t Blaise’s fault for bringing them up, really. Blaise hadn’t been friends with them, nor Draco, for the most part. He had always considered wizarding politics beneath him, had never been shy about his hatred for the Dark Lord _or_ Dumbledore. He was probably right about Crabbe and Goyle, too, but it hurt all the same.

“Sorry,” Blaise said offhandedly, noting perhaps the tension on his friends faces, “but it’s true. They hurt people. Really hurt people.”

“So did I,” Draco said mulishly.

Blaise sighed and flicked his foot. “Did you _enjoy_ hurting people?”

“No,” Draco ground out. Even after all this time - although it hadn’t really been that long since the war, sometimes it felt like ages – the insinuation that he didn’t enjoy hurting people – _lesser_ people, those who deserved it – still made him feel weak.

“Did you go out of your way to hurt kids? All those first years?”

“No,” Draco ground out again, supressing a shudder. He had been hurt in exchange for his refusal, been punished while he was at the Manor for Christmas, and then again for Easter.

“Did you enjoy killing muggles?” Draco winced, visibly. He didn’t talk about that, ever. Not the raids he had been sent on with Death Eaters, not how he had been threatened and tortured by his wicked Aunt for not having the stomach to kill.

“Didn’t kill anyone,” he finally said.

“I think it’s different, then,” Blaise said. “You can’t tell me Crabbe or Goyle never killed anyone.”

“I didn’t save anyone, either,” Draco sighed.

“Neither could we,” Pansy said, after a moment of silence. “Nor did any of those tosspots,” she meant the Gryffindors who had been at the castle, he knew. “And they _could_ have. So I don’t see how that makes you or I any worse than them,” she sniffed.

“Andromeda-” he began, intending to point out how Andromeda had successfully rescued herself, ended up on the right side, hadn’t hurt a single soul to do it.

“Andromeda did _not_ grow up in the middle of a war,” Pansy sniffed. “Honestly, Draco, not even she blames you.”

“Maybe she should,” he groused. “This is different, though.” He paused for a moment, searching for the words to explain _why_ it was different. “Andromeda didn’t know me, before. It’s easy for her. I called Granger a Mud- a _You Know What_. She got tortured in my _house_. I was horrid to Weasley.”

“Well, do you believe all that drivel about blood supremacy now?” Blaise asked pointedly.

Draco sighed inwardly. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t think so.”

“Well Potter seems to have forgiven you, why can’t they? It’s not as though they were never cruel to you, either,” Blaise said, after a moment’s silence.

“That’s different-” Draco began, pausing in shock as Pansy burst out laughing.

“Don’t tell me it’s different because you’ve sucked his dick,” she said between cackles. Draco buried his face in his hands. “I don’t think that will work with Granger, I’m not sure she has one, but you could always try with Weasley.”

Her cackles were cut off abruptly as they saw the group of Gryffindor’s walking up from the entrance to the common room, which had somehow opened without them hearing. Potter looked like he was trying to hide a smile. Granger, on his left, was looking awkward, her lips turned into a frown. He was sure she was blushing, even if, like Potter, her skin was too dark for it to be visible. Weasley, however, was bright red, intently looking around the common room as if it was fascinating.

Draco sat up as Potter approached the group of three, not bothering to hide his smile as he left his friends behind him. “I’m going to pretend I never heard that,” he said with an amused glance at Pansy. She shrugged unabashedly, and Draco felt a strange surge of warmth for them both.

Harry reached toward Draco and hauled him up by his hand, then turned to do the same for Blaise. Pansy got to her feet on her own, giving a dignified sort of sniff as she did. Draco saw Harry roll his eyes at her good-naturedly.

He didn’t know how Potter was acting so _normal_ , Draco was quite confident he was a small step away from hyperventilating like a stupid twelve-year-old. But then Potter reached out and brushed Draco’s side again, and he could feel the tremor in his hands and – was it wrong that it made Draco feel a little bit better, to know Harry was just as worried?

“I thought we could go to our dormitory?” Harry said quietly towards Zabini, who nodded. Draco saw Harry motion towards the two Gryffindors to follow them, Blaise and Pansy leading the way.

They took up their usual spaces, Blaise and Pansy immediately curling up on his bed while Draco and Harry perched on Harry’s bed, before realizing there were two more to their number today. Granger and Weasley looked around the room looking distinctly awkward before Granger grabbed the chair from Zabini’s desk. Following suit, Weasley took the chair from Harry’s desk, turning it around and sitting down beside his girlfriend.

Harry nudged Draco to move over, and they shuffled to the foot of his bed so they could see the Gryffindors better, but also weren’t so close to them. Pansy and Blaise followed suit. Then, the room descended into an awkward silence.

“So…how was everyone’s summer?” Granger finally asked in such a false cheerful tone it made Draco cringe.

“Oh, it was dandy,” he responded, unable to help himself. “Spending my time with only ghosts and thrice daily tea with McGonagall.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Did you really have that much tea with McGonagall?”

“And Flitwick, and Sprout, and Slughorn…” Draco sighed. “It was a lot of tea.”

He felt Harry nudge him, and looked over to see him smiling slightly expectantly at Draco. “Oh yes,” Draco continued, drawling now. “And tea with Potter, how could I forget? Sometimes even tea with Potter _and_ McGonagall. It was scintillating.”

Harry rolled his eyes, Draco saw it in his peripheral vision, but he refused to acknowledge it. Pansy was also rolling her eyes. All his friends were traitors.

“As much as I would love to hear about your summer,” the Weasel – Weasley, Draco corrected himself – began, his voice full of hostility, “we should just establish that I don’t like any of you and I don’t trust any of you.” Draco felt Weasley’s eyes rest on him. “You’re a Death Eater,” he spat out. Draco looked up in shock, but Weasley had already turned to Pansy. “You tried to give Harry to Voldemort,” and then to Blaise, “And you’re just a self-righteous pure-blooded twat.”

Draco felt Harry’s hand grip him, perhaps reflexively, but he didn’t look over. He opened his mouth to say – well, he wasn’t sure _what_ , probably something rude about Weasley’s, but Pansy beat him to it.

“And you think you’re so good, Weasley?” she huffed. “Looking down on purebloods that aren’t like you, acting like school children are really the biggest enemy you’ve faced, like we’re worse than Vold-V – than the Dark Lord himself.”

“Well you were the ones who got to spend all your time shut up in the Slytherin common room while other kids were tortured. We’ve heard the stories, you know – we’re not daft.” Draco saw Weasley’s blue eyes flash with anger and looked at him, almost incredulously, though he tried to hide it. He could almost feel the anger pouring from Pansy across from him.

“While _other kids_ were tortured, Weasley?” she asked, almost deathly quiet. Weasley, at least, had the sense to look abashed. Granger looked panicked. “Has the thought that Slytherins were tortured, too, never entered that thick skull of yours? You think they cared about anyone’s blood status and not just-” she cut off with a sob, Draco realized, horrified.

He half stood up to reach out to her, but she was already at the door. She gave one look back, not at him, but at Potter. “I can’t, I’m sorry.” And then she was gone.

They all sat in silence for a moment – Draco hovering above his bed. He was more anxious now, if that was even possible. Pansy, who was never uncertain, never wavered, _never_ cried leaving in a flood of tears had done more to shake his confidence than anything had since the war itself. He sat down heavily on Harry’s bed, and it seemed to shake everyone out of their surprised stupor.

“I’ll go, I know where she went,” Harry said with a sigh. Before anyone could protest, he had kissed Draco on the temple and disappeared through the door.

Draco couldn’t help it – he felt himself blush furiously. Normally, he didn’t mind Harry kissing him or taking his hand no matter who they were in front of. He welcomed the touch, especially in these days after the war – but also as he always had when Blaise put an arm around his shoulders or Pansy played with his hair. It was different, right now, though, with both Granger and Weasley now staring daggers through him.

“Had to go and upset her, didn’t you, Weasley?” Blaise drawled, breaking the silence of the moment. “Is it all Gryffindors that are so tactless, or are Weasley’s especially bad at it?”

Weasley flushed a brilliant shade of red. “Shut it Zabini,” he ground out.

“I will not,” he sniffed. “Everyone in this room, including Pansy and Potter, has spent all summer trying to _heal_ and be _better_ and then you two come in from your stupid vacation with your stupid prejudices and have to ruin it. You should have said from the beginning that you’d rather spend time with Smith and his cronies than here, would have saved us all the energy of bothering to even try.”

“I- he- you-” Weasley blustered. Granger had her head in her hands. Draco strongly suspected she was crying, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

“That’s what I thought,” Blaise said savagely.

“You can’t expect us to believe,” Granger said, lifting her head, “That you have anything to _heal_ from.” Her mouth had twisted in a line, but she looked distraught. And honestly, for someone who was supposedly the brightest witch of their age, she was being gratingly obtuse right now.

“Ask you friends,” Draco spoke up, then. “Ask your pathetic friends what happened in the castle after they saved their own skin and abandoned everyone else – even first years, to the Carrows. Ask them who stepped in to help when they were gone.”

Both Weasley and Granger had gone quiet, Draco noted with some satisfaction. “That’s right – they don’t know. And they don’t care, either.”

“That’s not true!” Hermione began, fiercely.

“Isn’t it?” Blaise asked. “Tell me, when you waltzed into the castle with Potter in toe and went to find your friends, did it occur to you why it was only them locked away? Why they didn’t save any kids or Slytherins or _anyone_ outside of your stupid club with them?”

“No one else needed saving!” Weasley exclaimed. “It’s not like the Carrows were hurting pure-bloods. The DA were the only ones standing up to them, no one would have gotten hurt after they left.” To Draco’s satisfaction, he sounded unsure as he finished talking.

“You’re actually daft,” Blaise said. Draco could hear the false amazement in his voice, the mocking tone. His friend’s face was hardened, looked almost impassive but Draco knew that for Blaise, that meant he was angry.

“The Carrows didn’t care,” Draco said quietly. “They didn’t care about blood status, they were crazy. Do you know who stood up to them, when your lot left? Pansy did.” Weasley had gone pale, and Granger had slouched back in her chair. “Hate me all you want,” Draco continued, ignoring Blaise’s sharp look in his direction. “I’m the Death Eater, and I will own that.”

He not-so-surreptitiously rolled up his sleeves, showing his faded Mark. “I’m okay with – learning to be okay with that as a part of me. So hate me, I don’t care, Weasley. But Pansy is ten times the person either of you will ever be. Don’t touch her, don’t even fucking look at her or I swear to Merlin I will _hurt you_.”

“Draco…” Blaise breathed, but he ignored the other boy.

“Get the fuck out of our room,” he continued, as if Blaise hadn’t spoken.

“It’s not even yours-” Weasley, the idiot, began to argue. But Blaise had caught on.

“Get out,” Blaise parroted, his tone equally as deadly.

The two Gryffindors scrambled towards the door. In other circumstances, Draco would have laughed at the display, so cowardly for people who were considered so brave, but he just sagged down in relief as they left. Blaise moved, coming to sit beside him on Harry’s bed.

“Potter is going to kill you,” he sighed, but allowed Draco to lean against him.

***

Harry pocketed the Marauder’s Map as he pet the dog painting that led to Draco’s room. He hadn’t necessarily been lying when he said he knew where Pansy had gone – it just wasn’t exactly the truth, either.

He hadn’t told the Slytherins about the map yet, had wanted to wait until Ron and Hermione were here and had met them. He mostly was hoping that showing them after Ron and Hermione had gotten used to them would make them feel less betrayed that someone else knew the secret of the Map and his Cloak. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure they’d all ever get used to each other.

“Oh, it’s you,” Pansy sighed when he stepped in.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said, wryly, sitting down on the bed next to her. She wasn’t crying, now, but obviously had been. She was sitting on the bed against the headboard instead, holding a pillow to her chest.

“No,” she laughed. “It’s just-” She paused for a moment, looked him up and down, setting Harry’s nerves on edge. “You didn’t _leave them together_ , did you?” she shrieked.

“Um-”

“Potter, are you absolutely mental? They’ll hurt him, he can’t even use a wand!” she had jumped up and had a hand on the door already, looking particularly murderous.

Harry couldn’t help it – he grinned at her, then pulled their wands out of his pocket. “They can’t use their wands, either,” he added cheekily.

“You – how did you convince them to do that?” she asked in shock.

“I may have told them I’d hold onto your wand, and Zabini’s, too.” He placed his two friends’ wands down on Draco’s desk, trying not to laugh at the shocked look on Pansy’s face.

“Very Slytherin of you, Potter,” she said, coming back around to sit on the bed again. “Very sneaky.”

“I have my moments,” Harry responded in an imitation of Blaise’s arrogant tones. “They’ll probably just yell a lot,” he said, more normally this time.

She nodded at him, but he frowned. He felt guilty – more than guilty. He should have known Ron and Hermione wouldn’t have taken well to being forced into a conversation with Pansy, Blaise and Draco in their first moments back. Harry had been here all summer to watch Draco learn and change, had been here all summer to learn and change himself. His best friends had not.

“I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea,” he said finally.

Pansy snorted. “It was. But they’re your friends.”

“So are you,” Harry responded, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. In the Days Before, he would never have imagined this conversation would ever happen. But right now, if he were being honest with himself, he felt closer to Pansy than he did Ron and Hermione. “Are you okay?”

She took a deep breath, leaned against him carefully. He put an arm around her, equally as carefully. It wasn’t that he was touch-averse, necessarily, but Ron and Hermione had never needed so much affection from him. He found it strange.

“Sometimes I am,” she said finally. “But no, not right now. Sometimes I think I never will be, you know?”

“I know.” He sighed, trying to let some of the tension out of him. It didn’t work. “I’m going to find McGonagall, see if I can floo Andy to see if she’ll come through today. Want to come with me?”

“Sure,” she said. They both stood up, Pansy with a small smile on her lips. “But lets find the other two, first, make sure no one’s resorted to fist-fighting instead of wands.”

Harry felt himself smile back. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things will resolve eventually between the Golden Trio and Slytherin Trio, but it can't happen right away. I'm very consciously aware that JKR wrote about blood purity as a shitty metaphor for racism, but I think because of that it's really important to address the learning curve of the characters as they confront their own ideas about blood purity and learn how to be inclusive. that won't happen overnight, and neither will characters accept overnight that the slytherin's have changed. confronting internal biases and growing from that is a huge, huge process, and i think it's important to properly recognize and portray that!!


	7. Beyond the Veil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short compared to normal i think - but it was either this or leave it excessively long, so i decided to chop it in two. That means next chapter we'll get to see the sorting feast and Pansy and Harry with the Slytherins, and this chapter is 99.9% angst. Yay!

_Harry was walking down a long hallway. It was dark, but the door at the end seemed to shimmer, so he made his way towards it. The walls were black marble, slick and cool – he wasn’t sure how he knew this, he hadn’t touched them, but it was undoubtedly true._

_A sick feeling of dread drove him along, increasing as he neared the door despite its shimmering reassurances. He reached out as he arrived at the door. It opened at his gesture, a waft of cool air blowing in towards him. He stepped through –_

_Into the Department of Mysteries’ room of doors. The room spun around him, his chest spun within him. Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see – and then it stopped. He moved towards a door, compelled. It opened as he approached, a flash of white-silver light –_ like the moon _, he thought – assaulted his senses._

_“Your fault,” whispered a voice. It took him a moment to recognize it, but then he was there. Remus Lupin, wand raised, flanked by Tonks. “You killed us,” they whispered, and Harry was choking, drowning, hurting and then_

_Like a slingshot, he was flung out, the door slammed. The room spun, his chest spun, and he was forced towards a new door. On the other side was Sirius, as he had been when Harry had first met him – eyes wild, movements frightened, gaunt and fragile. “Your fault,” he hissed. “I would still be alive now, I would have my friends, but I don’t and it’s all your fault.” Sirius was screaming at him, shaking his fists, it was loud but quiet, painful but dampened. Sirius reached out, pushed Harry – “through the veil, your turn,” he hissed – and Harry was shot back again to the room of doors._

_More spinning, the room, his chest, his mind, his heart, and now it was Colin Creevy on the other side of the door. “Why did you hate me, Harry?” he asked dolefully. “Why did you let me die?” Colin snapped a picture, the flash bright and driving him back, back, back, the door slammed, the room spinning._

_And then it froze. There were no more doors, just the large, amphitheatre-like room with the veil in the middle. Bellatrix Lestrange hovered above the veil, a glowing prophecy in her hand. On one side of her – and the veil – were Ron and Hermione, strangled by the ropes that bound them, faces turning blue. On the other – Draco, Pansy, and Blaise – but instead of ropes it was Devil’s Snare and they were calling for him, screaming for help but Harry was frozen. He couldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried, not to either group of his friends, not towards Bellatrix, he was stuck._

_“You can end this,” Bellatrix whispered, and suddenly his feet were free and moving. Was he steering them? Being pulled? He neared the veil, tasted the embrace of Death, not unfamiliar, and stepped through – the shrieks of his friends still echoing his ears – and then_

“Bloody hell Potter, _wake up_!” and the screaming was his not his friends, and he was in his bed, but not _his_ bed – he was at Hogwarts and –

“ _Augmenti_!” Harry spluttered, sat up like a shot, as water was poured on his face. His vision came back to properly to see Blaise standing over him, looking slightly sheepish.

“You wouldn’t stop screaming,” he said, “Not after you woke up, either.”

“It was-” Harry wasn’t sure he could even articulate how he was feeling. The spinning feeling hadn’t left his chest, not really, although it had transformed into something that felt much more crushing. He was dimly aware that he was still gasping for breath, his vision was still grey on the edges. Zabini, strangely enough, was the only constant right now – an obvious juxtaposition from his dream of the dead and dying.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Zabini said then. “It just sounded – sounded worse than your usual.”

“It was worse,” Harry managed to say, before abruptly being sick all over the floor. Zabini vanished the mess easily, and dried Harry of the water he had poured on him with an extra flourish of his wand. He moved to sit down beside Harry on his bed.

“I haven’t-” Harry had to pause again, take a deep, shuddering breath. He focussed on his breathing for a moment; slowly in and slowly out, knotting his hands in the bedsheets on either side of him. “The last time I had a dream that bad was after Cedric – after the tournament,” he said. “They were horrible, that summer – the next year, too. Because Voldemort was in my head. And now he’s gone, but…”

“But when you have bad dreams, it feels like he’s still here, yeah?” Blaise finished for him. Harry nodded, to which Blaise side.

The fist in his chest, the spinning, the crushing, was receding, now. He felt as though he could breathe, but _Merlin_ he wanted a cigarette.

“He was never in my head,” Blaise said, “so I know it’s not the same. But sometimes, it helps me to focus on things I know are true.” He looked up at Harry in the darkness, the whites of his eyes shining. Were they just bright, or were those tears? There were tears in his own eyes, Harry realized – he hadn’t noticed until now.

Blaise put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezed. “I know we’re here, on your bed, in the eighth year dorm at Hogwarts. I know Pansy isn’t far away, probably arguing with Granger instead of sleeping.” He gave Harry a strained smile. “I know Draco is in his little room, probably fast asleep like the peaceful twat he is.” This wasn’t true, they both knew, but was comforting somehow. “I know Slughorn is in the dungeons, definitely in some sort of _horrid_ silk nightgown.”

Harry snorted at that mental image. “Thanks,” he said after a moment of silence. Zabini took his cue, standing up and making his way over to his own bed.

The next thing Harry knew, sun was shining through the false window in his dormitory. He woke slowly, conscious of the voices flowing around him, but too groggy to make them out. His bed dipped, and someone placed his glasses in his hands.

It was Draco, of course, with a plate of breakfast and a concerned look on his face. “Blaise told us what happened,” he said, and it took a moment for the memories to come rushing back in. His nightmare, Lupin’s pale face, Tonks’ haunted eyes, Sirius’ anger and Colin’s despair – Bellatrix holding his friends hostage. His stomach heaved despite himself.

“It’s the Welcome Feast tonight,” Draco continued as Harry sat up. “Andromeda and Teddy will be here.”

“Right,” Harry managed, reaching for the piece of toast Draco offered him. He didn’t really feel like eating, but he also wanted everyone to stop looking so _worried_. The toast tasted like sawdust in his mouth.

“You and I have to plan for welcoming the Slytherins this evening,” Pansy said, then. “I was thinking we could after lunch. Draco and Blaise can help us.”

“We thought you might like to find…Weasley and Granger this morning,” Draco said. Harry could tell it took him effort to keep his tone level.

“I probably should,” Harry sighed in agreement. He hadn’t spoken to them since the previous day’s catastrophe.

As it turned out, finding Ron and Hermione was a relatively fruitless endeavour. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t find them, they were seated in the middle of the common room. It was more that they were surrounded on all sides by people who had missed them and wanted to catch up. Harry didn’t begrudge them that, not really, in the Days Before he would have joined. But now – well, no one liked him now, that was part of it – he was too shaken from his nightmare to handle a crowd of that size.

He was too shaken from existing, in the Days After, to handle a crowd of that size, if he were being honest. Instead, he left the castle, Invisibility Cloak tucked into his pocket. Draco, Pansy, and Blaise had each other, the others were distracted in the Common Room; it finally felt relatively safe to go for a walk by himself.

The air carried a slight chill, as if it knew it was the first day of term. He struck off in the direction of the forest, opting to take a path beside the lake. It was peaceful here, the most peaceful place he had been in days.

Harry tried not to think of his nightmare, but the more he tried the more it rose to the forefront of his mind. At this point in his life, he was used to nightmares; to waking up shaking and in terror. They had been especially terrible directly following the war and again his first couple nights at Hogwarts, but the previous nights’ had been his worst yet.

He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t the same as his nightmares when Voldemort was in his mind, either, although these nightmares felt just as real. And yet, if anything, the terror upon waking was worse than when he had woken fearing for Sirius, or Mr Weasley.

In the quiet of the forest, he breathed in the earthy air, pausing just to appreciate the _peace_. Perhaps, he thought, the most terrifying part of his nightmare had been how willingly he had crossed the veil. He hadn’t tried, hadn’t lifted a finger, really, to help his friends. Even if it was just a dream – it made him feel like he was capable of just…not caring. And there was guilt, too. His nightmare had reflected so clearly his deepest wish in the Days After, the wish that he had just stayed dead. That he had gone on. That for once, he had done something selfish for himself. Instead of facing a hostile castle, angry friends, he could be with his dad, Sirius, Remus…

The images in the dream came back to him, unbidden. As if they would want him there, it was _his fault_ they were dead.

He stayed in the forest a long while, longer than he should have. No one said anything, though, when he missed lunch. Hermione had shot him a worried look as he passed by her, trailing after the Slytherins, but he didn’t stop to think about it, to talk. Instead, he followed the gentle pull of Draco’s hand in his, the small smile on Pansy’s face, Blaise’s encouraging arm around his shoulders.

And then it was nearing dinner, Pansy and Blaise had gone for a walk, and it was just him and Draco and the overwhelming cloud of sadness that had followed Harry all day.

“Where are you?” Draco whispered finally, after silence that had stretched out endlessly. “You’re so far away today.”

Harry let Draco push him down on the bed, straddle him, nuzzle the crook of his neck gently. He let the feeling warm him, force his mind back into my body.

“I know,” he whispered back. “I’m sorry.”

Draco kissed him gently; the side of his mouth, under his jaw, then sat back, running his fingers through Harry’s wayward hair. “Don’t be sorry,” Draco said. “It’s not your fault.”

Harry let his hands move, skimming Draco’s calves, his thighs, dancing along the skin above the waistline of his pants. “I feel like,” Harry began. He stopped, gathered his thoughts, leaned into Draco’s touch on his chest. “Death follows me,” he said, almost sighed. “I dreamed that I went through the veil. You were there, you all were; you needed my help and I left. I just left.”

Draco’s hand came up to cup Harry’s cheek and he turned into it, kissing the other boy’s palm. Draco withdrew his hand, leaning down instead to press a slow kiss to Harry’s lips. “You don’t owe the world anything,” Draco said against his mouth. “You didn’t need to stay, you never had to. No one would have been angry if you had…gone on.”

Harry kissed him then, softly. “I would have been angry,” Harry said.

“No,” Draco responded, sitting up slightly. “You would have been happy, I hope.” Draco’s hands trailed down, found the hem of Harry’s shirt, lifted it slowly, Harry’s sighs turning to gasps as Draco kissed his way up his chest.

“ _Draco_ ,” he moaned.

“Is it selfish,” Draco whispered in his ear, as he drew Harry’s sweater above his head, “that I’m grateful you stayed?”

Harry didn’t respond, couldn’t, could only whimper as Draco bent down again, kissing his chest, rolling a nipple between his teeth, made Harry arch into him with a needy keen. His hands were tangled above him, stuck in his sweater, and he could barely focus as Draco reached above him, hardly recognized that his hands were being tied above his head against the bedframe.

“Is this okay?” Draco asked gently. Harry nodded, not trusting his words, but trusting Draco. Knowing he could get his hands out if he really wanted to.

He watched, enraptured, as Draco removed his hands from Harry, reached towards the buttons of his own shirt. He undid them slowly, eyes dark, focused on Harry completely. Harry felt his cock straining against his jeans. He arched, but Draco shifted back onto his thighs so his hips met no resistance, the want making him ache.

Then Draco was taking his shirt off slowly. Harry’s whole body was heating uncontrollably, his heart racing.

“Tell me about your nightmare,” Draco said, and Harry found himself complying as Draco’s hands moved again – across his chest, through his hair, under his chin.

“I saw people who-” he gasped as Draco’s fingers tweaked a nipple, “-who died in the war. They blamed me.” He didn’t specify, didn’t need to, not for Draco to understand. Draco bent to kiss him again, _finally_ , hands cupping either side of his face.

“I couldn’t do anything,” he mumbled into Draco’s lips, hardly aware of his words, burning with lust. “They would send me away, to someone else, who would say the same thing. Until,” he broke off with a hiss as Draco slid forward, straddling his hips again, rocking them carefully, once, against Harry. “Until I ended up at the veil. Bellatrix-” He felt Draco’s hands falter on his body momentarily, before they resumed their movement. “Bellatrix was hurting you and the others, and Ron and Hermione. It was like I had to _choose_ who to save, and I couldn’t, and…I went through the veil instead.”

Draco hummed in understanding against him. Then his weight shifted off of Harry, who was left gasping, aching at the loss for a moment. Until, that is, he felt Draco’s fingers at his belt buckle, making quick work of his fly, pulling his jeans and pants off of him in one movement.

He shivered, just for a moment, at the cool air before it was replaced by Draco’s warm breath, kissing and biting and licking his thighs, his hips, everywhere except _there_. Just when Harry wanted to scream from the tension, Draco was gone, standing beside the bed, pulling his own jeans off.

“I want to,” Draco began shakily. Harry felt his heart contract in _longing_ and _mine_ and _yes_. “Can I,” Draco tried again, “Can I ride you?”

Suddenly, there was no breath in Harry’s lungs, but he nodded all the same. “God, _yes_ ,” he choked out finally. He heard Draco whisper spells, wondered dimly if this counted as magic outside of classes, before Draco was back on top of him.

Their lips met, bodies aligned, gentle but desperate, calm and wild. Then Draco was slowly, slowly sliding down, burying Harry in him in exquisite heat and tightness and _yes_. It took a moment and then they were moving fast, colliding with force, kissing hard enough to bruise.

It didn’t take long at all before Harry felt his world explode, Draco’s name on his lips. He was dimly aware of Draco finishing after, sticky heat on his stomach before it was wiped clean with a spell. He felt Draco release his arms, and then the world faded.

When he came to, he was wrapped in Draco’s arms, feeling more peaceful than he had since, probably, the Days Before.

“What do you need?” he felt Draco ask against his ear.

“Just this,” he whispered back, before fading once again into sleep.

He was woken, unsure of how much time had passed, to Draco shaking him. “The Welcome Feast is soon,” Draco said. “And we need to find Blaise and Pansy.”

Harry nodded, the cobwebs clearing completely from his mind for the first time all day. He kissed Draco quickly before dragging himself out of bed.

“Pansy is going to be _so_ smug,” Harry said with a sigh.


	8. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG i have been working like 70 hour weeks and really not loving it, had absolutely no time to write until now. but finally another chapter full of wholesome pansy and draco content. apologies in advance for my sorting hat song i do Not poetry
> 
> hoping to have a full out line by the next chapter i post so that it's less drabbly more actually-has-a-story-line, not that i couldn't drabble on about pansy being a queen for ages but-
> 
> anyways enjoy!

Pansy was not smug. She was, in fact, not at all impressed. Harry felt her eyes on him almost as soon as he and Draco stepped into the Great Hall. Draco must have felt it, too – or maybe it was the stares of all the students trickling in, because he dropped Harry’s hand almost immediately. When Harry cast a sharp look at him, he was staring straight ahead.

It was hard to ignore the stares, the whispers of _Death Eater_ that floated around the hall, especially as they passed the Gryffindor table. When they reached the eighth years’ table, Pansy’s face had softened. She and Blaise had left two seats open between them. Harry slid in beside Pansy while Draco sat on his other side, beside Blaise, who engaged him in conversation almost immediately.

Harry made it through a whole two seconds of trying not to look at Pansy before she cracked first.

“We had planning to do, Potter,” she hissed at him. “And you had to go and disappear to shag Draco instead and leave me to do it all on my own.”

“I wasn’t really…” Harry started, but trailed off at the look Pansy gave him. “I’m sorry, Pans,” he said with a sigh, finally.

His chest felt tight, and he almost wanted to cry, but couldn’t place the exact reason. Because Pansy was upset with him? That wasn’t it, not exactly. It was as though the sounds of the dining hall had amplified around him, too – and they were different, this year. The chatter was subdued, voices tinged with worry and fear. Harry felt it in the core of himself. _My fault_ , he couldn’t help but think. It was his fault.

“It’s alright, you daft idiot,” Pansy said from his side. Her voice sounded far away – it was the feeling that was becoming familiar to Harry, since coming back to Hogwarts. As if everyone was on the other side of a long tunnel, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t quite get back.

Before he could say anything else, before he could pull himself back or force himself back into the world, McGonagall was standing at the dais. Draco’s hand had made it’s way to his knee under the table; it grounded him a little bit. He could even feel Ron and Hermione casting him worried looks from their spot with the Gryffindors on the other side of the table. He let out a slow breath as McGonagall began speaking.

“Today is a day to rejoice,” she began clearly. Any remaining speaking in the hall had stopped. “For those of us who have come back to the castle, who are still able to find refuge in this place.”

She waited a breath. Harry could feel the air in the Great Hall tremble, on the precipice of great relief and sadness. It was a physical feeling, the air around him was literally vibrating, as if straining to hold back the emotion. Was this a product of death, being able to feel the emotions so keenly?

Or was that him, straining against his own emotions?

“Today is also a day for grief,” the Headmistress continued, finally. “As we mourn for those who cannot be here with us, for those who will not be waiting for us at home, for those who’s memories still exist in our hearts.

“Every single person in this room lost someone – whether it was a parent, a sibling, or a friend. Every single student in this room lost part of their childhood to He Who Must Not be Named. Many of you,” she nodded towards the Slytherin table as she spoke, “lost your faith in Hogwarts, and the people here who should have protected you.”

Ron and Hermione’s eyes were on him again, Harry could feel it. This time, they didn’t look away when he looked up. Hermione gave him a small smile, even from the distance across the table he could see her eyes glistening. Ron nodded, his arm firmly around Hermione’s shoulders, and even Neville gave him a funny look. Harry was hit with a feeling of _wrongness_ – Neville could have been him, could have been the one targeted by Voldemort, the one who had to die. It could have always been like this, Harry in Slytherin with Draco and Pansy and Blaise, and Neville tromping around the castle and getting into trouble with Ron and Hermione. It felt _wrong_ and yet – he couldn’t help but wish.

“Before the First Years enter for their sorting, I would like everyone to observe a moment of silence in remembrance of the lives that were lost here and around Britain last year, muggle and magical alike.” The Headmistress’ voice was hard, as if daring anyone to argue. No one did, though. Everyone was silent, even the Slytherins.

It took Harry a moment before he realized what thought had crossed his mind, and he mentally kicked himself. As if the Slytherin’s hadn’t suffered, or lost anyone to the war. As if they all hated muggles. Of course they would observe a moment of silence.

This silence was less oppressive than when McGonagall was speaking. Harry felt himself come back to slowly. He was holding Pansy’s hand, he realized. She was dry-eyed, but looked suddenly exhausted, as if the world were too much. Draco’s hand was still on his knee –the other boy was looking straight down at his plate. Harry leaned into him cautiously, feeling gratified when Draco leaned back. He couldn’t see Blaise, on Draco’s other side, except for the arm that extended around Draco’s shoulder.

Harry let his eyes wander around the room – belatedly realizing that Andromeda was supposed to be here with Teddy. He felt panic clutch his chest, briefly, when he didn’t seem them immediately. He had been late to the start of the Feast, albeit only slightly – what if they had decided not to come and he hadn’t even noticed. Draco must have realized his panic, because he squeezed Harry’s knee and nodded towards the staff table. Sure enough, Andy was seated near the end, beside Professor Sinstra, with baby Teddy in her arms.

“Thank you,” said McGonagall, startling him out of his reverie. He had forgotten, for a moment, that it was supposed to be a moment of silence. Had assumed the world had dampened in his mind, as it often did. She said something else that he didn’t catch, but the hall began bustling again as the first years were led in by Professor Vector.

“Harry,” the familiar voice sounded behind him before he even had the chance to see if she had made her way down from the table. He turned in his seat, accidentally knocking Draco’s hand off his knee as he turned.

Before Harry could say anything, he was engulfed in Andromeda’s arms. It felt like home, as it did every time, but the homesickness hit him this time like it hadn’t before – perhaps because of his nightmare the previous night, or because of how he had been feeling all day. He let himself cling on tightly for a moment before pulling away.

“I have to sneak back up to the table,” Andromeda said as she turned to engulf Draco in a similar hug. “I thought you might like to mind Teddy for the meal, though.”

It was a two part request, Harry knew. The first part was the offer, because of _course_ he wanted to spend a meal with Teddy and of _course_ Andromeda knew that. The second part, though, was more upsetting. After all, it wasn’t as though Andy had _wanted_ to become a parent to her grandson. And with Harry gone…he tried not to feel guilty, because of course he should have come back to Hogwarts, but he did. If only he could have delayed a couple years, waited until Teddy was older, and then come back; it would be easier on Andy to care for an older child. It could have been possible, too, if he were anyone other than, well, the _Saviour of the Wizarding World_.

“Of course,” Harry said warmly to Andromeda instead. She handed him over and with a small squeeze of Harry’s shoulder she was off to the High Table. The timing was good – just as she left, the sorting hat was sat upon its stool by Professor McGonagall. Harry shifted Teddy in his arms so he could lean against Draco as the hat began its song.

_Oh I have lived through history_

_And thought I’d seen it all_

_Wars and droughts and famines_

_All these I can recall._

_But I’ve seen no horror worse_

_Than this past year of crime_

_And if I had my way there’d be_

_No sorting this years’ time._

_Though I regret to sort you_

_Tradition stays upheld_

_If you won’t heed this wisdom_

_The damage won’t be quelled_

_So listen to my story_

_Of the Founders four_

_Who were strongest when to each other_

_Their loyalties were swore._

_Brave Gryffindor, he knew_

_He was the strongest of the lot_

_When there was suffering and fear_

_It was for his friends he fought._

_The one who thought most clearly_

_Was young, smart Ravenclaw_

_When the founders four were hurting_

_Answers for the pain, she saw._

_Hufflepuff was always there_

_With kind words of strength and hope._

_The others looked to her for love_

_When they could no longer cope._

_And then there was good Slytherin_

_The man with all the answers._

_Through the barriers they faced,_

_He navigated like a dancer._

_Each founder had their strengths_

_That the others relied upon._

_Divided they were nothing_

_But united they kept on._

_So, when I sort you, please_

_Heed the words I speak_

_For only when united_

_Will Hogwarts feel less bleak._

_Please sit down here_

_And try me on your head_

_And when I divide you –_

_Find strength in your differences instead._

“That was…” Pansy trailed off with a grimace.

“A thinly veiled threat, almost,” Blaise filled in for her. “Unless you all love each other very much,” he said in mimicry of the hat’s voice, “You will all die cold and alone.”

Draco snorted, and soon the four of them were all laughing, much to the horror of those seated around them. They probably looked mad, Harry thought, snickering on like idiots after such a dark warning.

Harry shifted in his seat as the Professor Vector called out the name of the first student, opting to lean more heavily against Draco. Pansy was leaning over him, cooing over Teddy as if there wasn’t even a sorting going on at all. And to be fair to her – Harry wasn’t interested, particularly, in the sorting. Another year, more students divided into houses, more rivalries formed – the same as it always was. No, he was much more content to sit here, bent over his godson instead, leaning against his – well, not _boyfriend_ really, just Draco. His Draco

The sorting passed quickly – there were fewer students this year than any other year. Blaise, who had actually been watching the sorting, pointed out that Gryffindor hadn’t even been given a single new student, while somehow Slytherin had half the incoming first years.

“More for us to keep in line of course,” Pansy grumbled. Harry shook his head slightly at her – despite her words, she seemed gratified that they had so many students. He was…possibly a little bit excited at the prospect as well. After all, the first step to opening a proper school would be learning how to interact with children.

Food had appeared on their plates as the sorting finished. Harry picked at it, more focussed on Teddy than anything. He let the conversation of the Slytehrins ebb around him, content to just sit and not think for a moment.

It took him a few minutes to realize Pansy was trying to get his attention.

“Honestly, Potter, it’s like you end up in a different world,” she said. He shrugged, but could feel Draco snickering against his back. Perhaps in the Days After he was a little bit…fuzzy – but it wasn’t him, really, it was the world. The world was fuzzy; too fast and too slow and too hard and too soft and hurt too much and didn’t feel like anything at all and Harry didn’t know what to do with it. He had the strong urge to look up, towards Ron and Hermione, but forced it down. Now was not the time.

“Sorry,” he chose to say, instead. “I’m listening now.”

“I have a plan for how we should talk to the Slytherins tonight,” she said. She pursed her lips and reached around to whack Draco on the back. Harry couldn’t see what he had been doing, since he was currently leaning against the other boy, but presumably what he wasn’t doing was paying attention to Pansy.

“This involves you, too, you twat,” she said sharply. “I can’t do this with just Potter, he’s useless!”

“Oi,” Harry said, although it was mostly false indignance. He was fairly certain he’d be rather useless, at least at first. Even if the Sorting Hat had almost put him in Slytherin, that didn’t mean he knew how to _interact_ with them. Especially small Slytherins who had no reason to trust him.

Pansy relayed the plan quickly and efficiently – Harry’s only role was “Look friendly but don’t talk, for Merlin’s sake, or you’ll scare them away, Potter,” which he couldn’t really argue with. He spent the rest of the feast trying not to agonize about how the Slytherins would probably hate him and it would ruin his desire to open a school before he could even _start_ his career.

He was shaken out of his spiralling thought process by McGonagall stepping up to the podium. Teddy had fallen asleep in his arms at some point during dinner and Harry bundled him close, reluctant to acknowledge that he’d have to let the boy go soon. Perhaps tomorrow he could speak to the Headmistress about spending some weekends at home with Teddy. Draco seemed to realize his distress, or maybe it was just good timing – he shifted on the bench so that Harry was leaning against his chest, rather than his side. Harry let himself relax into Draco as McGonagall began speaking.

“Welcome, and welcome back to Hogwarts,” she began. “I have a few brief announcements before I can let you go for the evening.” She smiled down at the eighth year table for a moment. “You’ll notice a new set up in the Dining Hall, the table at the front is here to house the school’s eighth year students, who have come back to complete their schooling. You will see many of them in your classes, working to assist your teachers and provide extra help.

“You will also become familiar with some of the eighth years as your House Guardians (??). You will meet them tonight in your common rooms, and in just a few moments they will also be responsible for showing the first years the way to their dormitories. You are expected to treat the House Guardians as prefects; they are able to award and remove points, even from Prefects.”

McGonagall paused for a moment, and Harry felt the weight of it – it was a pause that held the weight of a war; perhaps the weight of two wars, the weight of the pain endured by everyone who was present here, and everyone who wasn’t present in the world any longer.

Finally, she spoke again. “In an effort to have everyone graduate within the usual seven years, classes will run on an accelerated basis to cover the work that was missed last year and the work that is required for the current year. For those in fifth and seventh years, your heads of house will be speaking to you about the option of a slower rate of study that would have you stay at Hogwarts over the summer and take your OWLs or NEWTs in the fall instead of at the end of this academic year. You are welcome to take the longer courses or the accelerated option, we will make any accommodations necessary. As well, the eighth years will be available as tutors to students who should need it. Your professors will speak to you more about this in your classes.

“Finally, Mr Filch has asked me to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off limits, and that all students should review the list of banned items posted in his office.”

She paused again, a small smile on her face this time. It almost, _almost_ , felt like home to Harry, especially with Teddy wrapped up in his arms.

“Lastly, I would like to introduce everyone to our new staff this year. Professor Slughorn has unfortunately decided to retire, so we will be welcoming a new potions professor – Professor Stone has been hired to fill his post.” A friendly looking woman in earth-green robes stood to wave to the students. She seemed fairly young, although looking across the high table it seemed as though there were quite a few young professors this year.

“To fill the Muggle Studies post, we have Professor Strickland.” A lady in muggle clothes stood up and waved to the crowd. A rush of mutters went around the room, including from Pansy, who nudged him.

“You don’t think she’s a Squib, do you?” she asked. She didn’t seem upset, Harry made sure to note, but she did seem confused. He shrugged in response, but tried to puzzle it out himself. There were other squibs on the staff, of course, like Filch, so it wouldn’t be surprising.

“She’s not,” Draco said suddenly. It seemed like the whole eighth year table had leaned towards him to hear what he had to say around the buzz of the dining hall. They were all avoiding looking at the four of them, though. Harry couldn’t help but smirk when Draco lowered his voice so only he, Pansy, and Blaise could hear him talking.

“She’s a muggle, I met her over the summer. Didn’t realize she’d be teaching though.” Harry couldn’t see him, but imagined he was looking very smug right now.

“How did you meet her?” Blaise asked from Draco’s other side. Harry felt Draco’s chest shake with laugher against his back.

“She’s married to Professor Stone,” he said, just as McGonagall cleared her throat over the din.

“Yes, it’s all very exciting,” McGonagall said with an almost-Draco-like drawl. It was Harry’s turn to laugh. “Moving along, the Defence position will be filled by Professor Cleomenes, who will also be acting as Head of Gryffindor house in my stead.”

Predictably, Gryffindor cheered. The man who stood up and waved also seemed quite young, although older than the two other professors that had been introduced. He was rather handsome, too, Harry thought – quite tall, with sandy blonde hair and broad shoulders. He certainly _looked_ like he would be good at defence.

“And on that note,” McGonagall said, smiling warmly down at all the students. Harry felt almost eleven years old again. “Please make your way to your common rooms. First years, your House Guardians will meet you at your table and guide you to your Common Room.”

She stepped down from the podium as the bustle of hundreds of moving students filled the Hall. Harry sat up slowly, cradling Teddy to his chest. The boy had begun to stir and whimper quietly.

“That’s our cue,” Pansy sighed. “Remember to try not to make an idiot of yourself.” She cast a look at Harry specifically. He just rolled his eyes, He had learned, in the past week, that she got like this when she was nervous – angry and abrasive. Or rather, more angry and abrasive than usual.

“I’ll meet you at the Slytherin table,” Harry said quietly, shrugging with the baby in his hands. Pansy just nodded curtly and walked away, leaving Draco standing helplessly between them. Harry rolled his eyes. “C’mon,” he said to Draco.

After some quick goodbyes with Andromeda and handing off Teddy, Harry wove his way though the remaining students with Draco’s hand in his. His nerves had begun to mount. It wasn’t so much that he was frightened of _first years_ , but rather nervous about how they would react to him, or if he would even be any good at this.

Draco squeezed his hand gently as they neared a small crowd at the Slytherin table, before letting go. Harry felt the loss immediately, but was mollified when he saw two students run up to Draco. They weren’t first years at all – second or third, from the looks of it. His heart bloomed in his chest as he saw Draco bend down to address the two students face-to-face.

In fact, the more he looked, the more he realized that most of Slytherin had not vacated the Great Hall, especially the younger students. They seemed to all be waiting to speak with Pansy or Draco. There were even a couple young Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs waiting, although the absence of any Gryffindor students was notable. Harry felt a little bit out of his element – no, _significantly_ out of his element watching it all unfold.

This was the aftermath, he realized, of a group of children left to fend for themselves. This was the aftermath of having only the older Slytherins left to protect them. The aftermath of the people who were supposed to protect them leaving them to fend for themselves. Harry was sure there was more than just this, too – more than the visible results of experiencing a war in their own school. There would be nightmares and panic, walking through the halls and seeing the ghosts of their friends – the Slytherin students would experience it just as severely as any other students.

As he looked around the Slytherin table, mostly vacant as students piled around Pansy and Draco, Harry noticed a group of what was definitely first years all sitting closely together, about ten of them, it seemed. With a nervous glance at Pansy, who was still engrossed with the students surrounding her, he made his way over.

The students began to whisper as he approached them, with all the subtlety that eleven-year-olds possessed. He heard his name whispered and had to fight back a wince. They were children, he couldn’t blame them for the hero worship that he so desperately hated. Even if he _did_ desperately hate it.

Before he could say anything, a girl’s voice spoke up. “Are you Harry Potter?”

It took him a moment to locate her. She was the smallest of the bunch, tucked in near the back of the huddle. She looked less nervous than the others, though – more self-assured. She stood up from the bench, too, as he neared, and flipped long, black hair out of her face. In a way, she reminded him of a young Hermione.

“I am Harry Potter,” he said. A wave of shock went through the group – he did his best to tactfully ignore it. “What’s your name?”

“Maribel,” she responded, “but I hate it.”

He did his best not to laugh, but really – it was hard. “Okay, do you have a nickname or a different name I can call you?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “No, my name is Maribel, so that’s what you call me.”

“We could call you Mari,” piped up another boy.

“I hate that worse,” Maribel responded primly. Harry couldn’t help a smile this time, at least.

“Why don’t we call you Mar?” he asked. “I think it suits you.”

She paused a moment, as if to consider. She was tapping her fingers rapidly against her leg as she thought, and it made Harry’s chest feel tight – as though he should be running or moving or doing _something_. But why was he reacting like that?

“I like it,” she said finally, snapping him out of his moment of concern. “I’ll be Mar, then.”

“Okay, Mar,” Harry said. He gave her his best interpretation of a friendly smile. The whole group of children looked less scared now, more eager to be here, as if her words and confidence had broken whatever emotions were keeping them scared or subdued.

“Are you all excited to finally be at Howgwarts?” he asked after a moments silence.

It seemed to bring the nerves back in the group – they all shifted uncomfortably for a moment. The boy who suggested the name Mari piped up again, looking distinctly more nervous this time. “I heard it’s in the dungeons,” he said, quietly.

“I heard it’s under the lake, and it’s always dark,” said another girl nearer to the front of the group.

“I like water,” Mar said. “Can you see the water from the common room?”

“You can,” came a voice from behind him – Pansy’s voice. Draco had come with her, and he pressed the back of his hand against the back of Harry’s hand when they approached.

“It’s not dark,” Draco added. “The lake makes it seem sort of green. Sometimes you can see the Giant Squid through the windows. There’s always lots of fish that you can see, and your dorms have enchanted windows so it looks like you’re looking outside.”

Harry glanced over – Draco was smiling down at the first years, looking as gentle as Harry had ever seen him, like was around Teddy, maybe, but with less of the discomfort of being around a baby. The first year students seemed enraptured by Draco’s words, they were all gazing up at him almost adoringly. Harry was fairly confident that if anyone was going to be getting any hero-worship from the Slytherins it was going to be Draco, not him.

“It’s a little bit drafty,” Draco continued. “But we’ll teach you some warming charms. There’s always a fire on in the fireplace, too, and the older students will conjure you flames that you can carry around if you ask.”

“Can we stop talking about it and go see it already?” Mar asked abruptly. Her fingers were tapping again, Harry noticed. He should ask McGonagall about that – it seemed a little bit strange.

“We can,” said Pansy. Together, the three of them led the first years out of the Great Hall and towards the dungeons. It felt good and right and – it felt to Harry like he was truly, completely at home.


	9. On We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this...probably could have been two chapters but oh well. enjoy a really freakin long chapter, haha. and please excuse me projecting onto mar... we stan her as much as we stan pansy now thanks :p
> 
> you'll notice this has been turned into a series and a second work has been added. all it is is this story without the smut, since i had some friends who wanted to read it but don't want to read the sex bits. so if you enjoy this, ignore that! if you'd prefer that, hit next work! i've also been thinking about starting a collection of one-shots from other characters points of view (pansy, blaise, mar, ron, hermione, etc). if that's something ya'll would be interested in, please let me know in the comments!

Pansy, Harry, and Draco had been in the Slytherin common room far too late into the night. They had spoken, separately, to each dorm about the upcoming year – had worked on getting to know each and every student (although this was mostly Harry; Pansy and Draco were familiar with the majority of the students in their former house). The younger students had reacted with awe and wonder at the seventh years. Many clung to Pansy, wanting to tell her about their summer or receive comfort about being back at the castle. The older students, meanwhile, were mostly angry and sullen at Harry and Draco’s presence, refusing to speak to anyone other than Pansy. It had been…exhausting.

They had gone back to the eighth year dorms, after, Draco trailing behind Harry and Pansy. He had been fiddling again with his left forearm, Harry had noticed. But Draco hadn’t seemed to want to address it or acknowledge it, so the group of three spent the walk back acting as though they were all fine. Blaise was there when they got back, and without preamble or discussion they had pulled the mattresses, blankets, and pillows to the floor before the four of them curled up; talking quietly until the early hours of the morning.

It was late, definitely later than usual, when Harry was woken to Pansy’s voice, shrill with anxiety beside him.

“-can’t just walk him out with other people around,” she said as he came to. He felt around for his glasses, accidentally smacking Draco on the nose as he did so. The other boy, who was already awake, huffed out an exasperated “Potter!” before handing Harry his glasses.

“What’s going on?” he asked, once he felt more oriented. Pansy was sitting up on his left, glaring at Blaise, who was standing over her. Draco was still curled up beside Harry, their legs tangled underneath the bedsheets. Ahh DS Ah FHalf of him wanted to stay like this all day.

“We slept in,” Pansy said, turning her dark look on Harry.

“Okay,” Harry responded. He felt like he was missing something – they were always up early to eat by themselves in the kitchens, but surely waking a little bit late wasn’t the end of the world. Especially now that the castle was full of students, not just eighth years.

“She means me,” Draco said after a moment. He disentangled his legs from Harry’s to stretch out. “I’m not supposed to be here, twat,” Draco continued at the confused look Harry shot him.

Harry slapped himself mentally for not realizing sooner – for not realizing last night, even. Draco was expressly forbidden from sharing sleeping quarters with other students; and while there was probably nothing technically wrong with him staying the night in Blaise and Harry’s room, there were also too many people itching to see him expelled.

“Can you disillusion yourself?” Blaise asked suddenly. “If you walk sort of – in-between us, I don’t think anyone will notice if you’re a bit fuzzy at the edges.”

The plan was accepted as the best one they had, although Harry knew it wasn’t, not completely. It wasn’t, because nearby, at the foot of his four-poster bed was his trunk. And inside his trunk was his invisibility cloak.

He still hadn’t told the three Slytherins about it. He was beginning to feel that they might be angry with him for hiding it from them. He wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t told them, either. There was no _need_ to keep it secret. After all, he trusted his three friends implicitly. It was more that it was one good reminder of the Days Before. A connection to his dad, but also a reminder of the fun he had had, Before. And was wasn’t quite ready to give that up, to share it around – not yet.

Draco was a bit fuzzy on the edges – since they were out of class he couldn’t cast the charm on himself. Harry couldn’t cast it, because – well, his magic was still unpredictable. And getting worse, it seemed, but he was trying not to dwell on it. So Pansy and Blaise had fought over whose disillusionment charm was better – a fight which Pansy ultimately won. Still, no one seemed to notice his slight edges as they ducked out of the common room.

Once they were in an empty hallway, Pansy removed the charm. It was just in time, too – as they started on again, a group of young looking Hufflepuffs came around the corner and nearly ran into them. Instead of shock or fear the group squealed.

“Pansy,” gasped one of the girls. She rushed forward again to hug Pansy around the middle, the rest of the group following until Pansy was nearly buried under Hufflepuffs. A couple made their way to Blaise, too.

Harry exchanged a bemused look with Draco, who pulled him closer to lean against his side. It was strange to think of the bonds that had forged, in the Days Before. In another context, perhaps, it could have been comforting – but how many nightmares did these children have? How many scars, how much fear?

“How are you feeling?” Draco murmured in Harry’s ear. He didn’t have to specify, he knew what Draco meant. He could tell his nerves for the upcoming day were coming off him in waves. He was anxious – anxious about classes, trying to learn again as if everything were normal, helping Binns, tea with McGonagall that afternoon – just anxious.

“I’ll be okay,” he said in response. It wasn’t really an answer, wasn’t what Draco was even asking, but it was the best he could give. Draco’s encouraging squeeze of his hand told him that he understood, too.

They began moving again, now surrounded by the group of Hufflepuffs. Harry tried not to let the noise upset him, but it did – the talking, the chatter; it grated on him. Before long he felt like his skin was crawling on his bones. His ears were ringing, skin was itching, and even the steadying presence of Draco’s hand on his did nothing to quell the panic.

By the time they entered the Great Hall, he was on high alert – every sound making him jump and shake. Draco was still holding his hand on one side and Blaise had materialized on the other, both keeping him steady. Pansy was ahead of them, saying goodbye to the Hufflepuffs as well as a couple Ravenclaws that had joined along the way.

“Breathe,” Draco said in his ear as they sat down at the table. Harry did his best to give Draco a smile, but was sure it came out looking wobbly. As usual, though, they were the only ones at their end of the eighth year table. Ron, Hermione, and Neville weren’t there yet, either, which helped calm his panic some.

The buzzing in his body slowly cooled. He was able to eat a couple bites of toast, and Draco poured him coffee that warmed him from the inside. He wasn’t feeling calm by any means, but he was present. And in the Days After that was often the best he could hope for.

“Harry, I saw an _eel_ last night!” The voice came from behind him – loud enough to make him jump and spill coffee down the front of his robes. Blaise gave him an exasperated look from his other side and waved his wand, cleaning up the mess.

“Must I always clean up your messes, Potter?” he sighed. There was no malice behind it, though, and Harry was able to roll his eyes back before turning around to see Mar grinning ear-to-ear at him. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, too, but she wasn’t tapping her fingers today.

“I hope it wasn’t in bed with you,” Harry responded jokingly. He felt more than a little forced, and it must have shown because Mar frowned at him in clear confusion.

“Of course not,” she said, finally. “I saw it through the window. Also three lampreys, two trouts, and I think a Salmon, but that doesn’t really make sense because they’re supposed to live in rivers.” She was looking at him expectantly and didn’t seem to notice Blaise, who was trying to hide a laugh with a cough and Draco, smiling beside him. Harry elbowed Blaise in the ribs.

“Maybe it was a magical fish?” Harry said. It came out as a question – he didn’t know _anything_ about fish, but Mar was looking at him so expectantly that he felt like he needed to say something. It was the right decision – as soon as he said it, her whole face lit up with excitement.

“There are magical fish?” she asked in wonder. Harry couldn’t help but smile.

It was Pansy, though, that answered. “There are,” she said. “And I think the library has a great big book about them with pictures and everything.”

Mar ran forward and, much to Harry’s amusement, flung her arms around Pansy. “Can you show me now?” she asked eagerly.

Pansy smiled down at the girl and gently disentangled herself. “I’ll show you after dinner,” Pansy said. “Look, Professor Vector is handing out your timetables now. You don’t want to miss that.”

Mar squealed and gave them a jerky wave before dashing off to the Slytherin table. At almost the same moment, McGonagall appeared beside the group with their timetables.

“Its good to see you taking your House Guardian duties so seriously,” she said with a bemused sort of smile at the four of them.

Harry looked down at his timetable as she walked away. It was, quite frankly, the most packed timetable he had ever seen. He glanced over at Draco’s – it was emptier. He had some time slots free. Pansy’s seemed more similar to Harry’s, packed full from breakfast to dinner, and sometimes after, too.

Draco let out a low whistle when Pansy and Harry passed over their timetables for him to look at. “None of you will have any free time, will you?” He smiled a little at Harry, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Harry felt another pang of… not sadness, not really – something worse. That feeling as if his heart was breaking despite already being so broken that it couldn’t possibly break anymore. “I’ll still have weekends, yeah?” he said, leaning into Draco slightly.

“Yeah,” said Draco quietly. “It would be easier if I was as busy as you are, though.”

“Didn’t McGonagall say the new potions professor was willing to unofficially take you on?” Blaise asked, grabbing Draco’s timetable out of his hands. “That’s not even on your timetable yet, I’m sure some of those slots will fill.”

Draco gave Blaise a small smile. “Yeah,” he said. “She seems alright, too.”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Pansy responded. “We have her first…with the seventh year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he let out a small groan. In the bustle of getting up to start heading to the dungeons, no one seemed to hear him except Draco, who just cast him a slightly exasperated look. Maybe he was being..dramatic, but it was for good reason. He could already think of a host of reasons why he _didn’t_ want to share classes with the seventh year Gryffindors all year.

There was a crowd already at the door to the potions classroom when they arrived. Professor Stone, the new professor, was standing next to the door that was closed behind her. Harry and Draco followed Pansy and Blaise to the edge of the group. Ron and Hermione weren’t far in front of them, but they were standing with Neville, Dean, and Seamus, so Harry didn’t bother to even think about approaching.

“It looks like almost everyone is here,” said Professor Stone cheerfully after a moment. The chatter in the hallway quieted. “Before I let you in, I’d like to go over some ground rules.”

Harry felt Draco nudge him. The other boy raised his eyebrows when Harry looked over, as if to say _This is strange_. And it was strange – they weren’t even inside the classroom yet, not even seated, but she was speaking as if they were.

“Firstly,” she continued, through the whispers of other concerned students, “You will be working with dangerous, volatile potions and ingredients. I do not want to see anyone getting hurt. If you’re fighting with a friend, an ex, an enemy – that all stays at the door. In this classroom I expect everyone, especially my oldest students, to be calm and respectful. If you cannot manage that, you will be asked to leave and to make up your work on your own time.”

Harry cast a look around him – most of the gathered students just looked confused. Hermione looked appreciative, of course. So did Pansy.

“Secondly, you’ll be choosing your partners for the rest of the year today before you enter the classroom. You will do all your potions work with them, from your brewing to your assignments. Potions is not a solitary field and I do not believe it should be solitary in the classroom either. You will be able to enter today once you have chosen your partner and have seen me to have your names written down. Your partner cannot be someone in your own year. Eighth years, please partner with seventh years. If anyone is left over at the end we will go from there.”

She stopped and watched them expectantly – it took the group a moment to realize that she was dismissing them to choose their partners. Harry looked at Draco, feeling panicky all at once. He wasn’t okay with this – hadn’t expected it, couldn’t deal with changes from his expectations or routines right now. His breath was coming shakily and he flinched when Pansy reached toward him. The world was darkening, the only steady presence was Draco’s hand in his.

“Come on, you idiot,” came a girls’ voice from his side. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t see, even; couldn’t think, but he allowed whoever it was to lead him toward the door to the classroom. He came back to the world once they were face-to-face with Professor Stone, jarred out of his panic by Draco, who had hastily dropped his hand.

“Me and Harry, Professor,” said the voice – Harry now recognized it as Ginny’s. “And Luna and Mal- Draco.”

Professor Stone waved them in. Harry could feel the concerned look she trained on him as he walked by, but he kept looking ahead. There were more pressing things on his mind than his breakdown – like why Ginny Weasley had shown up out of nowhere after months of anger to partner with him in potions.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she mumbled to him as they sat down at a table directly beside Draco and Luna. Draco shot him a concerned look as well, which he ignored, choosing instead to raise his eyebrows in Luna’s direction. Draco merely shrugged in response, but Harry could see him fiddling with his shirt on his left forearm again.

“Still angry, then?” he asked, despite his better judgement telling him to be quiet and just do what she said. Handling an angry Ginny was much like handling an angry Pansy – nod, agree, and do whatever she asks of you.

She cast him a disparaging look. “Yes,” she said. Then, after a moment’s pause – “No.” Then “Yes,” again. She sighed. He took a moment to look at her – properly. She had cut her hair short over the summer – shorter than it had ever been. It now reached just to the bottom of her ears. She looked tired, the bags under her eyes more pronounced than he had ever seen them. But then again, wasn’t that true for them all?

“I should have been a better friend,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

She looked surprised, just a little, but hid it quickly. “Let’s not bring it back up,” she said, almost immediately. “I don’t want to think about…” She paused setting up her cauldron to rub her face. “We’re here now. That’s all.”

Harry did his best to give her a smile as he pulled out his potions book. He glanced back at Luna and Draco again. The two were deep in conversation, now, but Draco was still scratching at his arm.

“I don’t think she can hold a grudge,” Ginny said with a sigh. It was obvious she was talking about Luna. “Now are you going to tell me why you aren’t speaking to my brother?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, but was cut off by Professor Stone before he could say anything.

“I know we have a class that’s probably quite mixed in terms of skill,” said Professor Stone. “So we’ll start off with a practical review. Please turn to page 17 in your books. You’ll have this class to brew Dreamless Sleep potion as a review. It won’t be for an official mark, but your grade will allow you and I to see where your skill level is at.”

By the time Professor Stone had finished speaking and Harry had gathered the ingredients, and Ginny had divvied up the steps to the potion, he had hoped she would have forgotten her question. One pointed look from her after a moment of silence, though, told him she hadn’t at all. He felt panic gripping the edges of his mind, tried to push it away.

“I’m not,” he said. “I mean – I _am_ speaking to him. Or trying to. He’s just always around…”

“People who are being right pricks?” She asked.

“I wasn’t going to put it like that,” Harry responded with a rueful smile. He snuck a glance at Draco as he looked down to sort his cut ingredients. The other boy wasn’t looking at him - was focused on Luna instead, almost smiling. He seemed to be much more comfortable now that he was brewing. When he glanced around the room quickly he managed to find Pansy with a Ravenclaw sixth year, and Blaise, looking aloof next to a seventh year Gryffindor girl who Harry vaguely remembered as being named Melanie.

“Well, how would you put it?” Ginny asked after a moments silence. Seeing he wasn’t going to get out of it, Harry relayed to her the events of the first week – everything from the first day in the eighth year common room to smuggling Draco out that morning.

Ginny hummed thoughtfully when he was done. “It will sort itself out,” she said finally. She gave him a pointed look. “It usually does.”

“I don’t know,” he said. He paused to watch her as she poured some of their potion into a vial to submit to Professor Stone. It was supposed to be dark purple upon completion; theirs was a little bit too light, he thought, but not horrid. “Some things are just…broken.”

“Maybe,” she responded with a resigned sigh. “Still, maybe you just need to try again.”

He felt like crying, suddenly. Harry took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, trying to keep his mind in his body and his eyes present on the clean-up he was doing. “They haven’t tried, though,” he said once he had gathered himself. “It took you one day to find me. And listen. They’ve – I mean, we’ve talked a bit. But they haven’t listened. They haven’t sought me out.”

Ginny gave him a small smile. “They’ve been through a lot, you know. Not that we all haven’t,” she added at his look. “But when they left for Australia so quickly it made me think that they weren’t able to confront their grief. They couldn’t stay here and handle it. So we,” she gestured broadly around the classroom, “Have been confronting our demons all summer. Trying to make sense of everything. They haven’t.”

Harry’s mind, unbidden, went back to their year on the run – to Ron running away. He came back then, though.

_You were children. You are children. You are allowed to grieve and you are allowed to change._

“The rest of them don’t have an excuse,” said Ginny, with what Harry could only describe as a sarcastic laugh. “They’re just pricks.” She had raised her voice at the end of what she was saying as Seamus walked past them. He shot a nasty look in her direction, but didn’t comment further – probably because Professor Stone had just walked by to collect their sample.

Soon they were in the corridor outside the potions room again. The air was cooler, here, and Harry felt himself breathing more easily, although he hadn’t recognized how stifling the potions room had been until he exited. Draco followed him out, flanked by Blaise and Pansy.

“Alright?” Harry asked Draco as they started walking. Draco was flushed and looked as though he’d be sick at any minute.

“No,” Draco sighed back. “But on we go.”

Thankfully, there were no forced partnerships for the rest of the day, and they didn’t have any more classes with the Gryffindors. Harry wasn’t able to eat at lunch, still feeling too sick from the morning’s events. Draco seemed to be feeling much the same. By the time evening came, both were exhausted, so Blaise offered to go to with Pansy to show Mar the library while Harry and Draco got some rest.

Harry had fully intended to rest, too – he really was exhausted. But Draco, of course, had other plans. They were barely inside Draco’s rooms before he had Harry up against the wall. The stone was rough and cold on Harry’s back, but with Draco’s lips on his he hardly noticed.

Harry tilted his head back, letting it play out. Draco’s lips had moved from his own onto his collarbone. He sucked hard, then bit suddenly before lapping at the spot. Harry brought his hands up in return, pulling on Draco’s robes until he stepped back to shrug them off and then working his way through the buttons.

He gasped as Draco’s lips came back up to his, let himself go pliant underneath Draco’s hands, too tired to really do anything except _feel_.

Draco maneuvered him away from the wall for a moment so Harry could shake off his robes and shirt. Draco’s hands and lips trailed across Harry’s body as he pulled his clothes off, until he was a whimpering mess. He reached for his own tie but found Draco’s hands on his before he could even begin to undo it.

“Let me,” Draco whispered, before nipping his earlobe. He pressed their bodies together at the hips. Harry felt his knees go weak at the pressure. Then his tie was in Draco’s hands, but instead of undoing it Draco was pulling on it, forcing Harry to tilt his head to the side. He felt Draco’s exposed mouth on the skin of his neck, then, their bodies pressed together as Draco licked and sucked. He was sure that there would be a mark but didn’t care, not now.

“Bed?” Harry managed to gasp out between ragged breaths. He could hardly keep up with Draco, with his hands and his lips and his hips tilting _just right_.

“Here,” Draco whispered in response before dropping to his knees. “Take your tie off,” commanded Draco as he began working on the buttons to Harry’s trousers. Shaking with desire, Harry complied.

When he had the tie in his hands, Draco reached up to take it from him. “Tell me if this isn’t okay,” he said, before guiding Harry’s arms behind his back and wrapping the tie around them. He didn’t tie it or bind him, really, in any way, but Harry felt his cock twitch in anticipation anyways. Draco smirked up at him.

“Okay?” Draco asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Harry choked out, resisting the urge to thrust his hips in Draco’s face. As if reading his mind, Draco let out a low chuckle. Then, his lips were on Harry’s prick, and all sense of time or thought or language left Harry’s mind altogether.

He could tell, somewhere in his subconscious, that Draco had his hand on himself and was jerking off in time to his mouth’s movements on Harry. He was torn between the desire to grab Draco’s hair and the desire to leave his hands where they were, until he didn’t have to make that decision because he was coming harder than he ever had, orgasm sneaking up on him like a train screeching to a halt.

When his breathing slowed, he disentangled his hands and pulled Draco, who had also finished, to his feet, kissing him long and hard.

“What was that for?” Harry asked finally, once his breath was back. He let Draco lead him to the bed and threw himself on top of it, utterly spent.

Draco was flushed bright red, and Harry guessed it was more from the question he had asked than their previous activities. Suddenly, something clicked and he couldn’t help but grin at Draco.

“You’re jealous of Ginny,” he said.

“No,” Draco huffed back, much too quickly to not sound defensive to Harry’s ears.

“You are,” Harry pushed, hoping his tone came off teasing. He looked over when Draco didn’t respond, to see the other man stubbornly looking at the wall instead of Harry. His right hand was back to playing with his left forearm.

“Hey,” Harry said. He reached over to grab Draco’s right hand and hold it, feeling a little bit guilty as he did so. “There’s nothing there,” he said. “There hasn’t been anything there in over a year.”

“Not over the summer?” Draco asked – and in that moment he looked so vulnerable that Harry just wanted to hold him, although he guessed that that approach wouldn’t be particularly well-received.

“Not over the summer,” Harry said with a sigh. He tried not to let his mind wander back to the summer, it would do no good for anybody.

Draco continued to look at him expectantly, so Harry sighed and continued speaking. “We fought badly over the summer. About – a lot of things, I guess. But I think we fixed it today, a bit. So really, there’s nothing to worry about. We’re just…sort of friends.”

“Sort of friends?” Draco asked. There was amusement tinging his voice, now. Part of Harry wanted to make fun of him for being jealous, but the other part of Harry knew that would, more likely than not, end in disaster.

Harry filled him in quickly on what they had spoken of during the class. He even added, for good measure, how well their potion came out. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point while he was talking, he drifted into sleep.

Harry woke, hours later, groggy, confused, and mildly panicky when he realized Draco wasn’t in the bed. He only had a few seconds to panic, however, before Draco came out of the bathroom, hair damp but freshly dressed. When he saw Harry was awake, he grinned.

“We’re late for breakfast,” he said, by way of greeting. Harry sat up quickly at that, shock coursing through his system.

“Breakfast?” he asked. “We were only supposed to nap.”

Draco threw a towel at him. “Blaise and Pansy know where we are – they came looking for us last night. You didn’t even move when they came in. Pansy was convinced you were dead.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but was silently impressed. This was likely the longest he had slept without nightmares since, well – as long as he could remember, anyways.

After a quick shower they headed towards the Great Hall together. With the whole school now back, it seemed much safer to eat in the Great Hall again. It was harder for the other eighth years to follow them, and even then their interest seemed to have gone from something that felt genuinely dangerous to whispered comments and threats.

Draco had a free period in the morning while Blaise had Care of Magical Creatures, Pansy had a meeting with Professor Stone, and Harry had Arithmancy. His Arithmancy happened to be in conjunction with the fourth years on this particular day, although he’d be in a separate classroom watching through a one-way magical hole in the wall. It was still slightly embarrassing. McGonagall had assured him that it wouldn’t take him long to progress to the level of a fifth year, but sharing classes with fifth years wasn’t that much better, in Harry’s opinion.

Still, the period passed quickly. History of Magic, after it, was horrifyingly slow – although Harry was almost used to Binns’ drone at this point, and even managed to take some notes. Hermione was sitting across the room, but he could feel her glancing over often, as if shocked that he was actually paying attention. Especially compared to Ron, he figured, who was napping beside her.

They actually made it to lunch without being accosted by a single Slytherin first year. The first years had spent most of the previous day shadowing them, and even Pansy had noted that it felt strange that morning when not a single one approached.

“You’re teaching us history, right?” Mar’s voice came from behind him as soon as he sat down. Plenty of the others seemed to find her annoying or weird, but Harry quite enjoyed her presence. Pansy, too, seemed to have taken a liking to her.

“Professor Binns will be there too,” Harry responded, doing his best to dodge the question. The truth was, he _was_ teaching first year history – two double periods per week, each a mixture of all the houses that had students – but he had wanted to keep it quiet until classes were underway.

Mar furrowed her brow. “But everyone says he’s boring. I think you’ll be a better teacher.” Her fingers were tapping on her thigh again, a fast pattern that Harry couldn’t make sense of.

“I am teaching it,” he said finally. “But try not to tell anyone, okay? It’s just after once, so you won’t have to keep it secret for long.”

Her tapping stopped, replaced almost immediately with bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Okay!” she said, before sprinting back to her friends.

“She’s not going to keep that secret,” Blaise muttered to Harry. Harry found himself laughing, a rare occurrence.

“She won’t,” he said. “It doesn’t really matter, anyways.”

Sure enough, when he arrived at the History of Magic classroom, there was already a gaggle of first years waiting outside. He let them in, trying not to sigh too loudly. He was excited, sure, and yes, they were eager and adorable, but if he had to go through a year of hero worship from all the students he was teaching, he wasn’t really sure how he’d manage.

By the time class was due to start and all the students were settled, Professor Binns was still nowhere in sight. Feeling nervous, but deciding he may as well give it a shot, he cleared his throat to start class.

“Welcome to History of Magic,” he began, looking out at the classroom. It wasn’t quite as full as a usual class would be – as classes were when it wasn’t the year after the war, anyways. There were officially twelve Slytherins – five boys and seven girls - seven Hufflepuffs, and nine Ravenclaws.

“I’ll be teaching you this year, but you don’t need to call me Professor or anything because I’m still a student, just like you. You can just call me Harry.”

It was strange, he thought, to be speaking in the History of Magic classroom without anyone speaking over him or dozing off. In Binns classes, both were usually occurring.

“You’re all going to get to learn history this year in a way that no one else has learned it at Hogwarts since…before Professor Binns.” The class tittered at this. Bolstered, Harry continued on. “I need you all to work hard and do well, because if we all do well together that means other students will get to learn what you’re going to be learning this year. And I think it’s much more interesting than what Professor Binns is teaching,” he added with a wink. All the students laughed again.

“What are we learning then?” asked Mar. She looked a little bit confused – or maybe frustrated – and was sitting slightly apart than the rest of her classmates. He decided that he would definitely keep an eye on her during this class, especially. Instead of expressing his concern, though, he smiled at her.

“Well, I think this year we’ll talk about some big wizarding history events that happened in the last fifty years. We’ll talk about Grindlewald and Voldemort,” some of the students shuddered at the name, but he chose to ignore it, “and how those wars affected us and the muggles. We’ll also talk about the founding of Hogwarts a little bit. Those are the big things. Some of you will know a lot about these things already,” he cast his gaze across the room, trying to make eye contact with all of his students. All except Mar. “Lots of you won’t. So if you know some stuff already, I want to see you helping the people who don’t, okay?”

The class nodded in agreement. “We’re going to learn about some muggle history, too.” He anticipated whispers, and let them have a moment of surprise before hushing them. “We’re going to learn about World War One and World War Two, mostly, and what the role of wizards were during those wars. Now, can you all take out a quill and some parchment for me?”

He waited a moment as the class reached into their bags to pull out the requested materials, and stayed quiet until they were all settled and focused again on him. “For the second half of the class today,” he continued, “I think we can play some games that will help us all get to know each other. But for the first half of the class I have a writing exercise for you all.” There was a collective groan from the class that he couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Part of what we’re going to do in this class is make sure that your reading and writing abilities are good enough to help you keep up in your other classes. And if they’re not, we’ll figure out how to fix it. Today, to see where we’re all at, I’d like you all to write me six inches on what piece of history you’d like to learn about most this year. It can be something I already mentioned, or something I didn’t, and it can be magical history or muggle history.”

He turned to write his instructions on the chalk board. He could have done it by magic, sure, and it would have been faster, but there was always the chance he’d make the chalkboard explode instead. He should really, probably tell McGonagall about how unstable his magic was being.

“I’ll try to make sure we learn about everything you write down,” he said once he had turned around, “As long as it’s appropriate for this class. Take all the time you need, and once we’re all done we’ll do something fun, okay?”

“Okay,” a couple voices chorused back, and then there was silence – or mostly silence – as they all set quill to paper.

Maybe, in deciding to open a school, become a teacher, he had made a great career choice. Or maybe this would all fall apart around him. But for the first time in the Days After, Harry was feeling hopeful.


	10. Us or Them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that i basically fell of the face of the earth. Life got accidentally too overwhelming and I had to hide for a minute there. I v much hope you all enjoy this chapter, I have reading week coming up so I'll be able to catch up on my writing and hopefully have a backlog for writing for this story now so it's easier to post more often. thank you thank you for sticking with me, this story is so much fun to write and i am in love with every single one of the characters and every single one of my readers who loves them just as much as i do <3
> 
> tw for a homophobic slur in this chapter

“This is exhausting,” Pansy groaned from beside Harry. Their first week of classes at Hogwarts was complete, but instead of the weekend being the respite from work they all needed already, Harry was burying himself in lesson plans while Pansy was wading her way through a thick and unfriendly looking Dark Arts book.

“Should have chosen a different subject then, shouldn’t you have?” Blaise asked with a smirk, looking up from his position on the floor where he was playing a one-person chess game.

“Don’t worry,” Harry said with a sigh in Blaise’s direction. “I’m dedicating tomorrow morning for arithmancy. Just you and me until lunch.” He gave Blaise a cheeky look, but the other boy just rolled his eyes.

“And when are you planning on doing the rest of your work?” he asked. “Between old McGonagall today and meeting with Binns tomorrow it’s not as though you’ll have time.”

Harry groaned. “Don’t remind me, please. I’m trying not to think about it.”

They were all huddled in Blaise and Harry’s room, as usual. Harry was on his bed, lesson plans for his first years spread out around him along with their introductory essays. Pansy was at Blaise’s desk, the heavy tome open in front of her. She had some complex looking calculations on a parchment beside her that Harry didn’t have enough of an arithmancy grasp to even come close to understanding. Draco was at Harry’s desk, pretending he couldn’t hear them all in favour of his potions book. Blaise was, of course, on the floor between beds.

“You’re all making it awfully hard to focus,” Draco said, finally looking over from Harry’s desk.

Harry pointedly ignored him. “I have twenty-eight students in my first year class. Three of them can’t write – at all. They’re eleven!” He sighed. “How does a child grow up for eleven years and not learn how to write a proper sentence?”

“Not everyone can afford a tutor,” Pansy said, looking at him levelly. “And some parents don’t have the time to teach from home themselves.”

Harry rubbed his face in frustration. “Why don’t they go to muggle schools, then?”

“Lots of reasons,” Draco said. “At least I’d imagine. There’s the risk of exposing muggle children to magic, for one thing.”

“That’s why your school is such a good idea, Potter,” said Pansy, scrunching her face as if the compliment hurt her to hand out. “It provides an option for families that wouldn’t normally have one.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He leaned back on the pillows and closed his eyes for a moment. “How has wizarding society existed for so long without solutions for problems like this?”

“There are solutions,” Pansy said. She paused a moment, twirling her hair as she thought. There were prominent bags under her eyes – Harry knew from Blaise that she’d been having especially bad nightmares. But of course, there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. They had taken to shifting their sleeping arrangements – Harry with Draco and Pansy in Harry’s bed instead. It wasn’t as though Hermione was horrible to Pansy, but she felt safer with Blaise. And Harry couldn’t complain – he was, of course, more than happy to stay with Draco.

“There are solutions in a lot of other countries,” Pansy finally said. “Wizarding Britain is – I mean, very focussed on blood purity, of course, but classist too. The sacred twenty-eight has the resources and influence but they won’t use it to help half-bloods or poor pure-bloods. It’s something you’re taught not to question. Until you do question it, I suppose.”

“I guess I never realized that there were children coming to Hogwarts without any sort of school before that,” Harry said. “It must be hard.”

“I’d imagine,” Draco put in. “Now please be quiet.”

Harry watched Pansy and Blaise exchange exasperated looks. “One day,” Harry said, “I’m going to introduce you to a Walkman. Or noise-cancelling headphones.”

“A _walk-man_? That sounds-”

But Harry didn’t get to hear what it sounded like, because at that moment a knock on the door sounded, followed by hushed voices from the other side. Everyone looked at each other for a moment before three sets of eyes landed on Harry.

“They’re probably your Gryffindor’s, anyway,” Blaise said when Harry turned a pleading look on him. Since it was clear that no one else was going to help him, Harry hauled himself up with a sigh, careful not to touch any of his papers strewn over the bed.

The knocking came for a second time before Harry finally made it to the door. It opened to reveal the faces of Ron and Hermione, as Blaise had predicted.

“Erm – hi,” Harry said. It was a strange moment, where he longed for the Days Before when he could talk to his friends without any awkwardness or shame. He was a product of the Days After now, hardly thought about the Days Before anymore.

“We were wondering if we could talk,” Hermione said carefully. She was glancing past him, into their room, and Harry could feel the cold stares his friends aimed at her, even if he couldn’t see them.

He glanced behind him quickly, tugging on his hair that was long enough now to graze his ears, although still wild as ever. He locked eyes with Draco, who gave him a nod and a small smile.

“Sure,” he said, turning back to Ron and Hermione. “Maybe we can go for a walk.”

“Alright,” Hermione responded primly. Harry grabbed a jumper off his bed-post before gently closing the door behind him and following his sort-of friends into the corridor.

“Why don’t we go outside?” he asked after a moment of heavy silence. They followed him through the halls of the castle, toward the Entrance Hall. They weren’t talking, but he could feel them silently communicating with each other in that way they always did.

“How’s working with Binns?” Ron asked, finally breaking the tension.

“Alright,” Harry said, giving his friend a small smile. “Don’t see much of him, really. McGonagall is much more interesting.”

“Really?” Hermione asked suddenly. “Only, I imagine there’s a lot of work that goes into her job. What do you help with?” She looked uncomfortable again – about speaking so eagerly to him? Or something else? Harry wasn’t sure.

“Everything, really,” Harry said after a moment’s pause. “I’ve overseen two detentions so far. We’re updating curriculum-” he cut himself off. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone this, really – except Draco, and by extension Pansy and Blaise. In fact, McGonagall had given him and Draco express permission to tell the other two, seeing as they were always together anyways.

But at Hermione’s expectant look, he caved. “Muggle studies will be mandatory for everyone from first year to seventh year, starting next year. We’ve something planned for this year, too, but I’m not allowed to say yet.”

“Mandatory even for muggleborn students?” Hermione asked immediately. Harry sighed to himself, nodded at her.

He waited until they were outside in the grounds to speak again. “It’s not – it won’t be taught the way Muggle Studies was before. It’s not just about things like electricity, not a way to make muggles look eccentric. It will have a large focus on muggle and magical history, taught in a way that emphasizes reading comprehension and writing skills, especially in first and second year. Then it will focus more on wizard-muggle relations and how to navigate the muggle world. Spending money, technology, using the post, the library, applying to muggle unis – the lot of it. There will be mandatory field trips and everything.”

Harry paused, realizing he was definitely rambling. Ron was looking at him in a sort of bemused way, but Hermione seemed fascinated.

“Is it just you and Professor McGonagall working on this?” she asked.

“There’s a team of people,” he responded, hoping that was all he needed to say, but she just raised an eyebrow at him to continue. Harry sighed. “Well there’s me, of course. Professor McGonagall, Professor Strickland, one squib who works in muggle liaison for the Ministry of Magic and one wizard who works in the muggle government’s wizard liaison office. And Draco.”

He winced, knowing it was coming before he even closed his mouth. He had debated leaving Draco out of it, not saying anything, but better they find out from him now than find out he was lying to them later.

“Malfoy?” Hermione asked calmly, almost too calmly.

“It’s part of his parole,” Harry said dully. “And it’s important to have a committed pure-blood on the team. He knows more than anyone what information he’s missing to integrate into muggle culture.”

“Oh please,” Ron said, finally. His face was bright red, like there was anger boiling just beneath the surface. Harry could feel the explosion coming – wished he could run, wished he would be able to yell back. In the Days Before he certainly would have been able to – yell back, at least. But in the Days After he was just struck by how desperately he wanted to sleep the world away.

Or maybe how badly he wanted a cigarette.

“You put him there,” Ron said finally. “He would never be working on that if it hadn’t been for you.”

Confused, at least a little, Harry raised an eyebrow. “I already said it’s part of his parole. The Headmistress is confident in him, the plans were put together long before we came back to Hogwarts. I don’t see how I have anything to do with it.”

Ron scoffed – actually scoffed. Hermione looked almost frightened, but she would back Ron up no matter what came out of his mouth, Harry knew. “You were also fucking him long before we came back to Hogwarts,” Ron said, finally. “Or did you think we’ve forgotten?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “That didn’t have anything to do with-”

“Like hell it didn’t,” Ron snarled angrily. “I’m sure he’s loving the benefits of fucking the Saviour of the Wizarding World – the sooner he does his time the sooner he can fuck off back to his life of luxury and muggle killing, right?”

“That’s bollocks and you know it,” Harry hissed. He opened his mouth to say more but was interrupted by a squeal.

“Harry!” It was Mar, of course, entirely unable to understand the tension of the situation she was approaching, as usual. “Guess what?”

He glanced over at Ron and Hermione. They were both watching with unabashed curiosity. Ron still looked like he was fuming. With some effort, he turned a smile to her. “What, Mar?”

“I’m getting my hair cut!” she plopped down on the grass in front of him.

“Er- that’s great, Mar. Is Pansy doing it?”

“Nope!” Mar said, emphasizing the word with a popping noise on the P. Ron wrinkled his nose, Harry saw out of the corner of his eye, which made him bristle with protectiveness.

“Okay,” Harry replied cautiously. “Who’s going to cut it, then?”

“Mary, she’s a _fifth year_ Ravenclaw,” Mar said, as if it were the coolest thing in the world. “I told her she was pretty, and she said she’d cut my hair for me, and I really want it shorter.”

Harry measured his next words very carefully. He could feel Hermione, especially, watching him, sure she was picking up on his tension even if she wouldn’t say it. “What exactly did Mary say to you, Mar?” he asked gently. The girl was practically bouncing in excitement, flapping her arms and smiling widely. Her movements slowed when he spoke, though, as if sensing Harry was worried.

“Um,” she said, nervously glancing at Ron and Hermione as if only just noticing their presence. Harry gave her an encouraging smile. “Well, I told her she was pretty and then she said if I was acting like a dyke she could make me look like one,” Harry did his best to stifle a gasp. Or groan. He wasn’t sure. “But I didn’t know what that word meant, so I asked and she said I needed shorter hair, and I told her I always wanted short hair but mum never let me, and she said that if I met her in the charms room after curfew she’d cut it for me.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair. A couple times. These were the kinds of things he needed Pansy for. Mar had started tapping her collarbone, though, like she often did. And the more he let the silence go on, the faster she tapped. He gathered himself together in a deep breath.

“Mar,” he said as gently as he could. “Do you know what sarcasm is?”

Mar scrunched up her face. “That’s like when someone says something they don’t mean, right?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Harry agreed. He wanted to touch her hand, hold it still, but was fairly certain that was the wrong thing to do. “Mary was being sarcastic. She was trying to be mean to you.”

“Why would she be mean?” Mar asked, looking confused. Harry did his best to keep his cool. He would tell Pansy about this as soon as he could. They would figure out what to do.

“I don’t know why she would be mean,” he settled on saying. “People can be mean for a lot of reasons. Maybe she was having a bad day.”

“Okay,” Mar said. “I understand that. Like when Draco tells you to be quiet at breakfast?”

Harry let out a laugh that sounded more like a choke. “Like that,” he said. “Draco is always mean before he has his coffee.”

“Ew,” she said, making a face. “But Mary didn’t say anything mean. She just said she could cut my hair.”

Harry sighed. He could feel Hermione’s eyes boring through the back of his head, refused to turn back, to see the judgement of Mar he knew must be on their faces. He focused on Mar, who was hitting her leg now, with the bottom of her fist. Not hard enough to hurt, but he was worried, a bit.

“The word she used, the one that you didn’t know,” Harry said.

“Dyke?” Asked Mar, still hitting her leg.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “That’s a word – a really mean word – for a girl who likes other girls.”

“What’s wrong with liking other girls?” Mar asked, scrunching her face again.

“Nothing,” Harry said emphatically. Maybe too emphatically – the small girl startled. “There’s nothing wrong with anyone liking girls or anyone liking boys.”

“Then why is it a mean word?” she asked.

“There are mean words for a lot of things, and a lot of people that there’s really nothing wrong with,” Harry tried. Mar looked confused. He tried again. “A lot of people say mean things, and that’s why there are mean words.”

“Oh,” she said slowly. “Do people say mean things to you and Draco because you’re both boys?”

Really, this whole conversation was much above Harry’s non-existent paygrade. “Sometimes,” Harry settled on saying. “But it doesn’t bother us, because we know the things they say aren’t true.” He glanced back quickly at Ron and Hermione. Ron was looking tactfully down at his crossed legs. Hermione simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s okay if it bothers you, though,” he continued. “Sometimes mean things hurt.”

She sat for a moment, rocking back and forth while she tapped her collarbone as if considering what Harry was saying. “Can I still get my hair cut?” she finally asked.

Harry smiled at her and she smiled tentatively back. “How about this,” he said. “Tonight I can come by the common room with Pansy and she can cut your hair. How does that sound?”

She lunged forward and flung her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder. Then she jumped back almost as abruptly as she had leapt forward. With one last, wary look at Ron and Hermione, she ran off. Hopefully, Harry thought, to do homework and not stir up anymore trouble.

“You should report that to McGonagall, you know,” Hermione said once Mar was out of earshot.

“Yeah,” Harry said. He was exhausted, now. “I’ll have to talk to Pansy about it.”

“Wow,” Ron snorted. “You really are one of them, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked. He tried not to sound angry, not to sound threatening. He was so tired, so exhausted already – the world was greying around the edges of his vision.

Ron tossed down a newspaper clipping in front of him, from the Daily Prophet. He could only make out a headline, dark black on the pale parchment of the newspaper.

**_Wizengamot Passes Vote to Track All Known Death Eaters and Associates_ **

Something simple was scribbled beside the title in Ron’s handwriting. _Them or us?_ It said.

“Want to deal with it yourself, do you?” he asked, as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “Ready to chase down a _fifth year_ girl in the corridors to attack her for revenge? What’s the curse going to be? I heard you have a pretty mean cruciatus. I know your stupid _boyfriend_ does. You’re just like them. You deserve this.”

Hermione said something, maybe, Harry wasn’t sure. He was dimly aware of them getting up and leaving – or were they backing away from him? He couldn’t see anymore, couldn’t feel. The world had gone from grey to white, he was angry like he had never been, not even in the Days Before, not when he had hated the world. The newspaper crunched in his hand and then felt hot, as if it had burst into flames.

And then everything was exploding, straight from his hands, his chest, his head – he didn’t know. The world was electric, like lightning. Someone was screaming – it was him, he realized. He was screaming. And then there was nothing.


	11. Not Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I couldn't leave everyone hanging for too long...
> 
> thank you for the comments and kudos. i will respond as soon as I have the time <3
> 
> also i made a tumblr?? i don't know how to use it, but you can find me as CaspianJames and maybe I'll learn how to use it so I can post about the fics and things I'm working on (more drarry? yes. long haul drarry? yes. fix it fic drarry? yes. trans harry? yes. so much yes.)

Harry woke slowly, dimly aware of hushed voices speaking somewhere in his periphery. There was something soft underneath him – a bed? He winced as his eyes opened, becoming aware of a pounding headache and his sore body. Slowly, his argument with Ron and Hermione, his conversations with Mar, came back to him. He let out a frustrated huff of breath. Whoever was nearby must have heard him because the hushed voices stopped.

“Harry?” Suddenly his vision was filled with Andromeda. The lights around him dimmed, too, until he could open his eyes comfortably – although his vision was still blurry. As if sensing his thoughts, Andromeda handed him his glasses.

“Thanks,” Harry said, accepting them from her and putting them on his face. “Where’s Teddy?”

If Andy was here, Teddy must be somewhere – and Harry was torn between desperately wanting to see the boy but not wanting him to see Harry in a hospital bed, even if he was too young to understand what it meant.

“Draco has him,” Andromeda said gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Everything hurts,” Harry said, sighing again. Perhaps in the Days Before he would have said he was fine, just so he could get back to his friends and his dormitory; would have protested having to stay in the hospital wing. But in the Days After he was simply tired – too tired to protest, too tired to heal, too tired to lie.

“Drink this,” said another voice somewhere past the foot of his bed. Madame Pomfrey bustled into view, potion vial in hand.

“What is it?” Harry asked. He took it and swallowed, dimly aware of Madame Pomfrey saying something before fell back into sleep.

The next time he woke it was darker in his room. His head hurt less – his whole body hurt less, really. He shifted into a sitting position, looking around for his glasses once again.

“You’re awake?” came Andromeda’s voice again. She was beside him, then, glasses in hand. “How are you feeling?” she asked as he put his glasses on.

“Better,” Harry said honestly. “I feel better.”

“Good,” she said, giving him a warm smile. “You gave us all a fright.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, shifting in his seat. He could tell she wasn’t upset or disappointed, not exactly, but he hated that she worried over him.

“Nonsense,” she said as Madame Pomfrey came bustling in. “We’re all glad you’re alright.”

A plate with food was shoved into his lap, Pomfrey telling him to eat as much as he could. And he found, for the first time in a while, that he was truly hungry. “Where’s Draco?” he asked as he ate.

“Probably throwing a temper tantrum because he can’t see you,” Andromeda responded, smiling softly.

Madame Pomfrey clucked in distaste from somewhere behind him. “Camped outside of the Hospital Wing all day – along with half of Slytherin house no less. Whatever you’ve been doing, Mr Potter, you have a group of very loyal students at your back.”

“Can I see him now?” Harry asked, sitting up straighter. “I’m feeling fine. How long have I been here, anyway?”

Andromeda sighed. “Not yet, Harry. You’ve been here for a day, it’s Sunday evening.”

Harry dropped back on his pillows. Sunday evening. He had missed so much – his meetings with Binns and McGonagall, cutting Mar’s hair, lesson plans – everything. “When can I leave?” he asked sullenly.

“Tomorrow morning, under a few conditions,” Madame Pomfrey said, giving him a pointed look. “The Headmistress will be here in a moment to discuss.”

“What happened, anyway?” he asked, turning back to Andromeda. “I remember fighting with Ron and Hermione…” he trailed off with a sigh.

He had fought with Ron and Hermione of course, many times, but it was never quite like this. It never felt like it was something that might never be repaired. Never felt quite like the end of the world – a signal, if anything, that the Days Before were really behind him. Perhaps in the Days After he wasn’t friends with Ron and Hermione – perhaps it was marked by death. His own, his friendships, his old life.

“Oh, love,” Andromeda said with a sigh, breaking him out of his stupor. She reached out to take his hand. He clung back as if he were a child. “They will come around. I know it’s hard, but give them time. They’re grieving, too.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But I grieved. And I came around. So did Ginny. Draco grieved and practically relearned how to exist in society. Why is it taking them so long?”

Andromeda just smiled and squeezed his hand. “You can’t put a timeline on these things, Harry.”

“What do I do, then?” He asked. He was aware he sounded like a petulant child. He also didn’t care.

“You wait,” said Andromeda, prompting another sigh from Harry. “You let them know you’re there from them, then you give them space and you wait.”

“I’ve already given them space,” Harry grumbled again, but nodded nonetheless.

Before Andy could say anything else, McGonagall came bustling into Harry’s little area of the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey in tow.

“Is someone going to tell me what happened now?” Harry asked with a huff. Andromeda squeezed his hand in warning but McGonagall just looked at him with a soft face. Somehow, that made Harry feel worse.

“Well, Mr Potter,” she said, seating herself in a conjured chair beside his bed as if he hadn’t said anything, “I had hoped the Hospital Wing would be seeing less of you, this year.”

Harry couldn’t help but give her a rueful grin at that. “Yeah,” was all he said.

“It seems as though you had an argument with Mr Weasley and Ms Granger, correct?” she continued. Harry nodded affirmatively, hoping she wouldn’t ask what it was about.

She didn’t, thankfully. “It appears as though your magic, unstable as it has become, reacted to your emotions during your argument. It exploded, in a manner of speaking.”

Harry let his head rest back on his pillow, giving himself a moment to process. His magic had exploded, so – “Are they alright?” he asked, suddenly full of worry. He felt sick. _If he had hurt them…_

“Everyone is fine,” McGonagall said gently. “It was an…internal reaction, so to speak. You were the only person harmed.”

“Alright,” said Harry, relaxing slightly. Ron and Hermione were being…incredibly infuriating, of course, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see them hurt – or to have hurt them. “So – what happens now?” he asked, before his thoughts could take him further than he needed to go. “Am I alright now?”

“You’re not alright, Mr Potter, no,” Madame Pomfrey said from beside Professor McGonagall. “I’ve never seen such a large magical core depletion in all my time as a healer. It’s a wonder we didn’t have to send you to Saint Mungo’s – not to mention I’m shocked that you’re already awake.”

Harry didn’t bother to comment. It wasn’t as if he had never been an exception to the norm before. And it wasn’t as though he had never escaped certain injury – or even certain death – before.

“You will have to be careful,” McGonagall said. “Exceptionally careful with the amount of energy you are expending over the next couple weeks.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded in agreement as McGonagall spoke. “That means there are some very important rules you’ll have to follow,” Pomfrey said. “No magic, in class or outside of it for the next two weeks. No extra activities that will put any strain on your body, like quidditch,” she said with a pointed look at him. “You’ll see me every day for the next week so I can monitor your magic levels, and then every other day the week after. Once we pass the two week mark we’ll devise a new plan based on the levels of your magical stores.”

“I never realized magic was so technical,” was all Harry could think to say. “I didn’t think you could lose it.”

It was Andromeda who sighed this time. “You can’t lose your magic, Harry. If you lose your magic you lose your life.”

Well, that explained it. “Can I still teach?” Harry asked. He turned to look imploringly at McGonagall.

“You don’t need magic for History of Magic, so I see no reason why not,” she responded after giving him a level look. “However, if you are having difficulty catching up with your school work please inform me. Professor Binns will be able to substitute for you if you need.”

Harry couldn’t help it – he made a face. The thought of Binns teaching his first years, especially Mar, gave him a weird feeling. “Is that everything?” He asked, before the Headmistress could say anything about the face he made. She looked like she wanted to.

“It is,” she said instead.

Pomfrey insisted on giving Harry one finally check up, which he sat through with an air of annoyance. He really just wanted to leave the Hospital Wing, knew Draco and Blaise and Pansy were waiting for him.

“Thank you for being here,” he said to Andromeda. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She engulfed him in a hug before he could protest. “I will always come, Harry,” she said, and he pretended it didn’t make him tear up just a little. Then she was off to collect Teddy from Ron and Hermione and Harry was leaving the Hospital Wing, nervous that there would be too many people waiting for him when all he really wanted to do was find Draco.

There wasn’t anyone waiting for him, though – except Draco. He was looking away from the door when Harry stepped out, sat on the stone floor with his knees drawn to his chest. Harry leaned against the wall, taking a moment to watch him.

Draco had filled out well over the summer and first part of the school year. He wasn’t a shell of a person anymore – neither was Harry. There was lean muscle to his arms now, his face was more than just bones, even if he was still quite aristocratic and pointy-looking. He was all angles, his hair falling in loose waves down to his chin, and there wasn’t a single thing Harry disliked.

“I can feel you watching me,” Draco drawled without looking over. Harry smirked, but didn’t move from where he was leaning.

“You can’t,” he said, instead.

Draco turned to look at him, grey eyes crinkling at the corners. “No,” he admitted, “but I can see your shadow.”

“Thwarted by a shadow,” Harry said quietly.

“Thwarted?” Draco asked as he pulled himself to his feet. “Enjoying what you were seeing, then?”

“You could say that,” Harry said, unable to help the way his voice came out breathy and soft, unable to keep Draco from affecting him so viscerally.

And then Draco was pressing him against the wall and his mouth was parting Harry’s, his tongue gently prodding, his hands roaming Harry’s body as if making sure he was all in one piece. They parted slowly, Harry unable to disguise his heavy breathing. He reached out as Draco leaned back, hand going to the other boys’ hair to push it behind his ear and out of his face.

“I like your hair like this,” was all he could say. Draco just smirked.

“I’m supposed to bring you straight to Pansy and Blaise,” Draco said.

Harry nuzzled his neck. “They don’t know I’m out yet,” he said, revelling in the noise Draco made when he bit the tender skin by his Adam’s apple.

“They don’t,” Draco said with a harsh breath. Then he was pulling Harry – or Harry was pulling him, maybe – by the hand in the direction of his room.

Draco pushed him up against the door impatiently as soon as they entered the room. “I was so scared,” he said between kisses. It was a small thing to say, but significant nonetheless for a man who rarely talked about his feelings.

“I’m okay,” Harry said instead, pulling back as much as he could to look Draco in the face, running his hands through the other boy’s hair again. Draco’s hand came up, tracing the lines of his cheekbones, running through his hair, which Harry was certain was even more unruly than usual.

Draco’s hands strayed, tracing down Harry’s sides, around the curve of his arse, back up to his hair. He stood still, hands on Draco’s waist, letting the other boy explore him, make sure he was intact. “I’m alright, love,” Harry said gently. His words struck Draco out of whatever stupor he seemed to be in because Draco’s hands were fisting in his shirt and pulling him close and his head was resting on Harry’s shoulder and Harry was clinging back to him as if he were the only steady thing in the world – which, really, he was sometimes.

“I’m okay,” Harry repeated again, helplessly. Angry Draco, he could deal with. Controlling Draco he could handle. Demanding and needy Draco was easy. But scared Draco was something he hadn’t encountered yet. A Draco that expressed his need for comfort through softness instead of angry quips and pushing him away was new and Harry wasn’t exactly sure how to handle it.

So he stood there and stroked Draco’s hair instead, clumsily kissing the side of his head until they other boy was able to straighten and look at him again.

“You smell like the Hospital Wing,” Draco said finally, shakily. “You need a shower.”

“Let’s go then,” Harry responded, trying to swallow his apprehension at the implication of what he had just said. Draco simply looked at him for a moment before nodding at him to lead the way into the bathroom.

Draco’s bathroom was small, but the shower was decent and the air was never too cold. Harry started the water, running it as warm as he thought he could handle. When he turned, Draco already had his shirt off. He drew Harry close again, and Harry allowed Draco to maneuver him against the counter pushing him up and pinning him there with his hips.

Draco’s hands wandered down his shirt, undoing each button slowly and precisely. Harry let out an amused huff although he felt like his heart would burst out of his chest from anticipation and desire. “Pomfrey told me I’m supposed to rest, you know.”

“I’m sure this is exactly what she had in mind when she said that,” Draco said in response. But he ducked his head down, as if supressing a laugh. “Don’t worry,” he continued, “I plan on doing all the work today.”

And then they were in the shower and Draco was lathering soap along Harry’s body and it was so simple and so domestic but Harry thought he would very well go out of his head with desire from it all.

“Alright?” Draco asked quietly, breath on Harry’s back, body pressed against him under the pressure of the water. Harry could only let out a strangled sort of gasp in response.

Draco spun him around and kissed him soundly. Maybe it was partly the water or the way Draco was touching him but Harry felt like he was drowning in the best possible way. It was all he could do to lean against the cool tiles and kiss Draco back.

Then Draco had shampoo and was lathering it in Harry’s hair and really, Harry realized, he hadn’t known bliss until this. Draco tugged on his hair, bit his neck and lapped at the spot with his tongue. Harry thought he would implode any minute.

“You should let Pansy style your hair,” Draco said suddenly. “She’s quite good with hair trimming spells.”

“I thought you liked my hair,” Harry said, pouting but not really. Draco flicked his nose in response.

“It’s to your shoulders when it’s wet,” he said instead. “You should keep growing it.”

Harry felt a smile blooming on his face. “Like it long, hm?” he asked, and began giggling in a quite un-Harry like way. There was no reason, really, except that he was happy to be out of the Hospital Wing and grateful to be here with Draco being treated like a prince.

“You’ve got that look on your face,” Draco said suddenly. He was still working his fingers through Harry’s hair, washing the shampoo out.

“What look?” Harry asked, bemused. He let his hands trace the scars on Draco’s abdomen, twine through his hair, tug on it gently.

“The look that tells me I should start insulting you before you get a big head,” Draco said with a grin. He leaned in, and Harry found his laugh captured in Draco’s lips.

He was going to say something cheeky about being the Chosen One or maybe about how Draco was really the one with the big head, or something embarrassing, like _yes please insult me,_ but as Draco dropped to his knees all coherent thought left Harry’s mind. In mere moments it was all he could do to stay on his feet, and if it weren’t for both his hands bracing on Draco’s shoulders he would have collapsed. His panting was cut off by a frustrated groan when Draco stood suddenly.

“Turn around,” Draco growled, and how could he do anything else but listen when Draco spoke to him like that? He braced his forearms on the shower wall as Draco pushed a finger into him, and then two.

“I think this counts as exertion,” Harry said between gasps.

Draco’s breath was hot on his neck as he spoke and Harry felt himself get impossibly harder. “No exertion,” he said. “All you need to do is stand there and look pretty, love.”

Harry let out a strangled groan as Draco removed his fingers and replaced them with something much larger. The rhythm was perfect, Draco pressed Harry hard against the wall of the shower with his body, his hand stroking Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Neither of them lasted long – although whatever Draco had said about exertion was entirely untrue. Harry felt spent – not that it was a bad feeling, but it wasn’t as though he could tell Madame Pomfrey that he had broken her orders by having sex in the shower with Draco Malfoy.

“Pansy is going to be angry,” Harry said with a sigh as they got out of the shower.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, giving Harry an unguarded smile.

Harry just shook his head. “We were supposed to straight to see them. And Pansy knows, Draco. She always knows.”

Draco’s laughter followed them out of the bathroom and toward the eighth year common room. Harry privately thought he had never heard a better sound.

**

Thanks to Draco’s insistence that they begin eating in the kitchens again, at least until Harry was feeling better, Harry was able to avoid any questioning by other students until Monday evening. He, Draco, Pansy, and Blaise had made their way to the Slytherin common room after dinner intent on getting some work done without being distracted by the rowdy eighth years. Professor McGonagall had announced that the sixth through eighth years were to meet in the Great Hall at eight o’clock that night. Harry and Draco knew why, but no one else did – not even Blaise and Pansy.

The minute they entered the common room Harry was accosted by the first year Slytherins, led by Mar, scampering around them and begging to know what happened. He refused to explain to them, but reassured them that yes he was alright and yes he would still be teaching History of Magic the next day. Eventually they left him alone, and the rest of the common room seemed confident that he was alright once he had answered all the rapid-fire first year questions and complimented Mar’s haircut, so they were left in relative silence, the four of them.

It was clearly not the type of evening where any work was getting done, though. They curled up on the couch in front of the fire, Draco with his head in Harry’s lap and legs across Pansy and Blaise, the latter seated with his back to the armrest of the couch so he could face everyone, talking aimlessly amongst themselves.

“You should do Potter’s hair, Pans,” Draco said when a moment of silence got too long to be comfortable. “He wants to grow it.”

Harry turned an amused look downward to where Draco was lying. “I do?” he asked pointedly. Draco merely smiled innocently at him.

“I’ll only do it if he starts actually taking care of it,” Pansy said with a sniff. “Hair like Potter’s will ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation?” Blaise asked with a grin, while Harry glared at Pansy with mock offence.

“I’m not spending anything near the amount of time on my hair that Draco does in the mornings,” Harry said. “That’s too much work.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have hair as nice as mine,” Draco said, reaching up to tug a strand of Harry’s hair – rather harder than necessary.

Harry just swatted at his hand. “Do any of you pay attention to the Daily Prophet?” he asked suddenly. The question had been burning since Ron and Hermione had confronted him on Saturday, but by the time he had gotten out of the hospital wing he had lost the nerve to bring it up.

“Yes,” Blaise said almost immediately, his look dark. Harry locked eyes with him for a moment – he wasn’t sure when he had begun silently communicating with Blaise, but it was clear the other boy knew exactly what he was talking about. Both Pansy and Draco shook their heads, however.

“Ron showed me an article,” Harry said with a sigh, “On Saturday.”

“Before you exploded?” Pansy asked with a small smirk.

“If he’s talking about what I think he’s talking about, I bet it was directly before he exploded,” Blaise said. Harry shrugged ruefully, trying to ignore the concerned look Draco was giving him.

“It was front page,” Harry said. “I only saw the headline. The Wizengamot passed a motion to track former Death Eaters.” He winced, almost, waiting for the exclamation of horror or anger but none came.

After a beat of silence, Draco sighed. “They’ve been talking about it for ages,” he said gently to Harry. “It was bound to happen.”

“You’re not upset?” Harry asked, incredulous. He would be upset if his movements were being tracked, spells monitored, conversations listened to.

“No,” Draco said simply. He sighed again at Harry’s expectant look. “No, I don’t want to be tracked. But it’s not as though I’m doing anything illegal, there’s nothing they’ll find. And honestly, most of those bastards deserve to be tracked anyway.”

Harry gave him a hard look, not entirely convinced but unsure how to argue – unsure if Draco would be upset if he pushed more.

“We need to go,” Pansy said suddenly, giving Draco’s legs a hard shove. “We’re going to be late!”

Mar gave Harry an eager wave as the four friends scrambled out of the common room to get to the Great Hall on time. Somehow, though, Harry didn’t think this was going to be the last time they were going to discuss the issue.


End file.
